


Deadline

by Fawnfiction



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, except the rules are a little different than most others, future chapters are planned but the first chapter works as a stand-alone as well, i promise it's not cliche, non-negotiable timers, which is why i posted it before writing the rest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 35,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12500620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fawnfiction/pseuds/Fawnfiction
Summary: “So?” his brother finally coughed out as he poured the tea into a cup and placed it before him.“What?” he answered, pulling the cup closer and taking a sip from it. It burned at his lips and he set it back down onto its saucer. He'd have to wait a little longer.“Big day today. Aren't you excited?” his brother grinned as he leaned forward on the table, though the tenseness in his shoulders gave away that he knew he was approaching sensitive territory.Kei's gaze flickered to his brother's blank wrist before looking back down at his tea again.“Not really.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was beta'd by my friend [spacialstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacialstars/pseuds/spacialstars) who writes really excellent fics of her own so check her out, too
> 
> Also this is my first posted hq fic! Yay!
> 
> Enjoy

As he awoke, he had about five seconds of blissful semi-conscious ignorance before opening his eyes and catching sight of his wrist.

His heart sank as his eyes skimmed over the low number, reminding him of what day it was.

00:00:00:13:39:21. Thirteen hours, twenty-nine minutes, and twenty-one seconds. Twenty seconds. Nineteen seconds.

His stomach churned at the digits and he flattened his wrist against his bedsheets so the timer side was facing down, unable to bear looking at the numbers winding themselves down anymore.

He didn't need to look at the countdown anyway. The numbers would reach zero, flicker red, and disappear forever April 22nd  at exactly 8:13 PM and 12 seconds. The date had been drilled into his head since he'd learned how to count. And according to his wrist, he only had thirteen hours left from hitting the deadline. Which meant that it was about 6:30 in the morning and still had half an hour left to sleep in.

He rolled over and closed his eyes again, trying to force himself back into his prior slumber, not at all eager to face the day ahead. Not needing to, yet. Not until seven.

His cellphone alarm went off thirty minutes later, waking him up with a jolt from the short bit of sleep he'd been able to recover. He groaned as he lifted himself up on his elbows, squinting as he reached towards his bedside table and shut off the irritating sound.

His eyes caught a glimpse of his wrist again, now inevitably displaying a lower number than before. 00:00:00:13:13:12.

He averted his gaze, forcing his mind to run through literally anything else but the ticking numbers. He still had to do his laundry; he could do that tomorrow morning. He had a test next week, so he'd have to keep studying for that, too. They were running out of eggs. And he had a distinct feeling that Akiteru had forgotten to pay the bills again, so he'd have to remind him later, before the deadline passed.

But first, he needed to get up.

He made his way, bleary-eyed, over to his desk where he'd left his glasses the night before. His room erupted into full clarity again as soon as he put them on, revealing the mess of papers strewn over his laptop and workspace after last night's late study session. He sighed and gathered the sheets together into a single pile, tapping them against the surface of the desk to align them and flatten out the bottom before tucking them into a folder.

He patted his hips, instinctively looking for his phone before recalling that he'd never disengaged it from its charger cable on his bedside table.

The bed creaked underneath his weight as he sat on the edge, careful not to get too comfortable, but also too lazy to keep standing as he unhooked the phone charger and checked for messages.

He had a text from his mother. He bit his lip as he tapped the icon on the screen. He had a pretty good idea what sort of messages his mother had sent him and he wasn't wrong, he decided, as soon as the text popped up.

 _Kei, I'm so proud of you_ , his mother had written, followed by three more individual texts below.

_CALL ME TOMORROW AND TELL ME ALL ABOUT HER_

_Don't forget_

_xxMomxx_

He hesitated for a second before replying.

_k_

Kei grunted as he collapsed back onto the bed, throwing an arm over his forehead. He'd pay good money to skip the hellish long day ahead of him.

 

–

 

His brother was already in the kitchen by the time he made his way downstairs to their shared living space.

“Morning, little bro,” his brother greeted him from next to the mini grill.

The smell of grilled salmon drifted its way over to him as he entered the kitchenette and took a seat at the table.

“Rice and fish sound good to you?” Akiteru asked over the bubbling and hissing of the grill.

“Mm,” he nodded, taking a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it as he waited.

They remained silent for a while, only the sounds of cooking fish and tea boiling breaking the hush between the two brothers. He could sense his brother's impatience from the other side of the room from the way he'd clack his chopsticks against the wooden counter and the glances he'd sneak at him. Akiteru was never as sly as he thought he was.

“So?” his brother finally coughed out as he poured the tea into a cup and placed it before him.

“What?” he answered, pulling the cup closer and taking a sip from it. It burned at his lips and he set it back down onto its saucer. He'd have to wait a little longer.

“Big day today. Aren't you excited?” his brother grinned as he leaned forward on the table, though the tenseness in his shoulders gave away that he knew he was approaching sensitive territory.

Kei's gaze flickered to his brother's blank wrist before looking back down at his tea again.

“Not really.”

He could feel Akiteru's own gaze boring into him before hearing the table groan as his brother pushed himself away and walked back to the fish. He ventured to look up again as Akiteru scooped the fish and a spoonful of rice into two bowls.

“You should be excited,” Akiteru stated, sliding the bowl over the table. “She'll make it worth it, trust me.”

He scoffed, digging his chopsticks into the rice. “Worth what?”

“I don't know,” Akiteru responded, wiping down the tabletop before sitting down across from him with his own bowl. “Whatever it is you're afraid of.”

“I'm not afraid,” Kei retorted, snapping his chopsticks upward and accidentally tossing a chunk of rice onto the ground.

“Sure,” his brother laughed, picking up the grain of rice and tossing it into the sink. “My job as big brother doesn't end with your timer, you know that, right?”

“Mm,” he grunted in acknowledgment, although his stomach roiled with the words. His brother was trying to lighten the mood the way he usually did and he could stuff it.

“And if you're worried about not having a timer anymore, you'll be fine. Really.”

He glanced down at his own ticking wrist and then again at his brother's blank one for a second. He'd considered it before, plenty of times, thought about what it would be like not to be guaranteed to life anymore, tomorrow no longer a promise. He'd told himself long ago that it wasn't worth worrying about. Most people lived decades after their timer expired. He would just have to take better care of himself from now on, although since he wasn't a risk taker, didn't smoke, and exercised regularly, it wouldn't be too difficult. It was more how others would perceive him that would affect his life.

“Or is it just that you're scared she won't like you?” Akiteru's teasing tone crept back into his voice again. Kei braced himself for what would doubtlessly be something extremely embarrassing. “Because I'm sure you'll be the man of her dreams.” He grabbed at a kitchen towel and wrapped it around his head before spouting in a falsetto voice, “Oh, Kei, where have you been all my life? My soulmate! Mwah! Mwah!” He closed his eyes and puckered his lips, kissing the air obscenely.

“I'm not hungry anymore,” he said, scooting himself away from the table.

“Oh, come on, at least finish your tea.”

He grabbed the cup and chugged the rest of the liquid down before slamming it back onto its saucer. “Thank you for the breakfast,” he bowed mockingly as he scooted away from the table.

“Are you still having your soulday party tonight?”

Oh. That thing. He'd nearly forgotten about the damned party, his brain probably automatically trying to repress the thought of it. He slipped his bag on his shoulder before responding. “I think the better question is, 'is the volleyball club going to host my soulday party tonight?' and, unfortunately, the answer is yes.”

Akiteru laughed. “You have friends who care about you enough to host your soulday party for you. You should be grateful.”

“Oh-- me?” he said, his voice leaking with sarcasm as he gestured to himself. “No, I-- I'm grateful that a _peasant_ like me gets to live like a king for a night--”

He just narrowly dodged the scrunched up towel aimed at his head. “Get out of here, ya little shit.”

“As you wish,” he bowed exaggeratedly again before opening the front door.

“I'll be off work by the time your party ends. Bring your soulmate here so I can meet her!” his brother yelled at his retreating back.

“Right,” Kei droned before stepping outside.

 

–

 

The day passed by achingly slowly and yet frighteningly quickly at the same time. He'd reflexively check his timer every five minutes, flinching each time as the number kept getting lower and lower, then try and force himself to focus on taking notes until he'd inevitably look down at his wrist again, further perpetuating the cycle. By lunchtime, he finally succumbed to wrapping his wrist in a bandage so he couldn't see the numbers anymore.

His anxiety went largely unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of the quotidian school day. Everybody else moved their lives along like there was absolutely nothing special going on today – and there wasn't, not for everybody else at the university.

The numbers on his wrist burned a hole in his mind. He watched the other students in his class talk with each other and take out their notes as they prepared for the beginning of the session. He found himself peeking at the wrist of the person sitting next to him. He still had another 26 years tacked onto his skin, ticking down second by second, seemingly somehow slower than his own, although time passed the same for his classmate as it did for himself.

The other student shifted to look at him, apparently having noticed the attention Kei had been giving him.

Kei managed to spit out some question in relation to the reading they'd had to do the night before, smoothing over the moment of awkwardness he'd accidentally incited. The classmate's answer flowed in and out of his head again, drowned out by the tumultuous thoughts circling around in his mind. He nodded like he was listening but found himself wishing they could trade timers. If only he could push his date back, even just another few years. Nineteen was too early, much earlier than most.

“Afternoon everyone,” their professor announced his presence as he paced into the classroom. “I hope everyone's been having a good day so far. Today we'll be discussing...”

Kei mentally shook himself and thanked his classmate for his answer then turned to open a Word document on his computer. It would serve no real purpose to waste his time thinking stupid things like that; nothing he did could change fate, so it was better not to question it or distract himself with such inane thoughts. His wrist was covered. Nothing existed but his computer and the sound of his professor's voice.

 

–

 

His classes ended much, much too early and by the time 4:00 rolled around, it was time to go to volleyball club.

He arrived twenty minutes late on purpose, hoping to slip through the gym to the locker room unnoticed so he could change by himself, give himself a few extra minutes to prepare for what would surely be a series of exhausting interactions, but the moment he slipped through the door, a flash of red torpedoed its way towards him, screaming his name at full volume.

“TSUKISHIMAAAA!”

He sighed internally, praying that the ground would swallow him up, but before he could personally be dragged to hell, Hinata crash-landed into his side, grabbing at his arm and spouting nonsense.

“Today's the day, right? How low is your wrist now? Why is it wrapped up? Lemme see, lemme see!” Hinata bounded from side to side like a little monkey, his grabby hands trying to pry the bandage off his wrist.

“Back off!” he grunted, pulling his arm up and away from Hinata's grasp. “Look at your own wrist.”

“Hinata! I was in the middle of setting to you, dumbass!” Kageyama's voice boomed from the other end of the court.

“No, you weren't! You were yelling at me about how bad my spike was!” Hinata tossed over his shoulder.

“Tsukishima, you're late!” Coach Ukai's voice interrupted, saving Kei from having to hear their ridiculous argument. “Go get changed and get back out here!”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, giving a quick glance at his teammates who were all practicing on the court already before heading off to the locker room.

It was mercifully quiet in the changing room, the thrumming of an air conditioner somewhere the only thing interrupting the silence. He undressed slowly, taking his time and relishing the few minutes he had to himself.

The bandage around his wrist crinkled as he put his jersey on. He poked at it with his finger, dipping a thumb in a tear in one of the layers. Hinata had nearly torn it off with his grubby little hands and if he left it alone, it would most likely fall off in the middle of practice. He unwrapped it, wincing as he revealed the number hidden underneath.

00:00:00:03:27:50. 49. 48.

He grabbed a roll of fresh gauze and rewound it around his wrist again until he could almost feel his pulse throbbing into his hand. He clenched and unclenched his fist, satisfied with the wrapping he'd made. He refused to allow himself to get distracted anymore.

 

–

 

The first three-on-three match had ended by the time he'd emerged from the locker room and Ukai instructed him to make up for lost time and play in the next one. He fell into line next to Azumane and Sugawara across the net from Hinata, Kageyama, and Tanaka. Hinata didn't mention anything else about the ticking timer on his wrist, fortunately. The little freshman was already engrossed in the game, too busy running from one side of the court to the other to allow his one-track mind to think about anything else.

He was like a little red demon, a blur of black-and-orange jersey speeding in and up, slamming at the ball any chance he got. Which made it difficult to match his pace, although Kei wouldn't be caught dead admitting such a thing out loud.

But it wasn't impossible.

Kei relished the satisfying _smack_ against the palm of his hand as he stopped the ball in its path, watched as it slammed into the ground directly behind Hinata.

“Argh, no!” Hinata growled, gripping and pulling at his hair in frustration. “I thought I had that one!”

“Nice one.” He felt a hand pat against his back and turned to see Suga smile at him before trotting off to the benches to get a drink of water.

“Ah – thanks,” he spluttered, following awkwardly a few paces behind. They'd completed the first set and had been given a five minute break before switching sides. He reached for his water bottle and downed a couple of gulps before stopping for air and wiping at his mouth. The bandage wrapped tightly around his wrist scraped at his lips as he did so. Ah, right. He'd actually managed to forget about that.

“You bandaged it.” Suga's voice filtered in through his thoughts again and he nodded, unsure if he'd meant it as a statement or a question.

“Didn't want to get distracted,” he mumbled, plopping the bottle back on the bench.

Suga looked thoughtful for a moment putting on his standard grin again and setting down his own bottle next to Kei's.

“Good idea,” was all he said before heading back to the court.

 

–

 

He was sure he hadn't meant it to, but Suga's comment brought his timer back to the forefront of his mind. Even though the timer was nothing more than pigmentation on the inside of his wrist, he could swear he could feel it ticking down, a sort of raw, itching sensation like hives or a rash festering just underneath the top layer of his skin. He resisted the urge to pick at his bandage and instead tried to focus on the game, watching the ball move from one player to the other, thumping against hands and arms and legs before finally falling to the floor to the delight of one side and the chagrin of the other.

“Nice serve,” he droned as Azumane picked up the ball and readied himself. A steady _thump_ later and the ball was already veering its way towards Tanaka's outstretched arms.

Kei picked at the edge of his bandage self-consciously, his mind still occupied with thoughts of the numbers reaching zero. He liked to tell himself, after the fact, that if he hadn't been so anxious over the stupid digits, that the series of events following right after that point in time would never have happened. In any case, they did, and Kei's reaction to the offensive's spike was just a millisecond too late.

If he'd been _two_ milliseconds late, then his block wouldn't have been high enough to keep the ball from landing on their side of the court, which would have been the preferred result. Unfortunately, he was only _one_ millisecond late, and the ball rocketed from Tanaka's palm straight into his face.

And his first thought hadn't even been something halfway dignified. He could have considered his next course of action, or what he could have done not to get hit in the face, or worried about how stupid he must have looked in front of everyone.

Instead, his first thought had been _my glasses!_

His glasses.

He slapped a hand across his face, fearing the worst and feeling a viscous liquid flowing form his nose. He removed his hand to see blood, bright and red, staining his fingers.

“Stop! Stop!” Ukai's voice boomed from the sidelines. “Tsukishima! Are you okay?”

“I'm bleeding,” he said, stupidly, because apparently the hit must have scrambled his brains until he finally got a grip on himself and amended his earlier statement. “I'm fine.”

“Okay. Come out, take a break. Narita, you're in.”

The quiet junior looked shocked for a second before nodding and marching onto the court. Kei pinched the bridge of his nose as he made his way to the bench, feeling the stares of over a dozen pairs of eyes on his back. Nobody was jeering at him for having taken a hit to the face and he wasn't sure what to make of that. Had it really looked that bad?

At least his glasses weren't broken.

“Are you sure you're all right? How bad is it?” Mr. Takeda fretted over him as he approached the adults. “Tissues! I have some tissues!” he shoved a wad of Kleenex at Kei.

Kei frowned but took them graciously, thanking his teacher and covering his nose with them.

“Come sit next to me,” Ukai gestured and patted the seat on the bench next to him. Kei obeyed and sat with a huff, feeling a bit of blood trail down the back of his throat.

“I have an ice pack,” Shimizu said, offering him a bag of the aforementioned ice wrapped in a white handkerchief.

“Thank you,” he muttered again, growing irritation forcing him to clench his jaw tight and nod curtly. Did everyone have to fuss over him about this?

Thankfully, people seemed to leave him alone after that, and he sat back and observed as the match started up again, ice pack pressed firmly against the bridge of his nose. The cold seeped into his skin and gave him a bit of a headache, but the bleeding slowed itself down.

“What happened?” Ukai asked him as they watched Hinata serve a ball straight into the net.

“I jumped too late,” he responded, lifting the ice pack for a second and patting at his nose with the back of his index finger. The bleeding had definitely already started to lessen.

“That's true,” his coach conceded, “but I meant in general. That doesn't happen to you.”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Didn't think fast enough,” he mumbled. He couldn't bring himself to openly admit that he'd been worrying about his timer, much less to an adult. He dreaded any follow-up questions the coach had to ask, but he appeared to accept the response and grew quiet again, gaze focused on the game in front of them.

The ball careened through the air and thudded loudly against Narita's arms, shutting down Hinata's spike entirely. Narita pumped his fist in the air and high-fived his teammates, face marked with utter jubilation. A cold heaviness slid into the base of Kei's stomach. Narita still had a solid four years and some change left on his wrist. It wouldn't expire until well after he'd graduated and moved on from volleyball. On top of that, he melded well with the team and had a generally agreeable personality. Unlike himself.

“Coach.”

Coach must not have heard because he didn't respond. He was sitting on the edge of the bench, torso hunched over and leaning even farther in the direction of the court, head propped up on a fist and attention fully enraptured by the game.

“Coach,” he tried again.

“Hm?” Ukai grunted, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Will you be choosing Narita?”

“Huh? Choosing him for what?” He turned his head to look at Kei a couple of times, clearly struggling with keeping his attention on both at once.

“Will you be choosing him as a regular, I mean. After today.”

“What? I-- no! No, don't hit a cross like that you'll break your arm!-- what's today?”

Did he really have to spell it out? He rubbed a thumb over the bandage on his wrist self-consciously, ready to let the matter drop.

“Hu--? Oh, that thing,” Ukai said as he rotated around a little to face him and catching Kei's subtle movement. “I'm not replacing you, if that's your question. Why would you think that?”

He shrugged, suddenly regretting bringing the topic up.

“It's unlikely that you'd get seriously injured in a volleyball game,” Ukai continued, “even once your timer runs out. It's not like you were born without it.” The words were like a kick to the stomach even though they'd been meant to assuage his fears. “Just don't get hit in the face like that again, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Right,” he replied tersely, nodding in polite agreement.

They wrapped up the game twenty minutes later, without Kei's help. Sugawara clapped a hand on Narita's and Azumane's backs, congratulating them on a well-won game. After a couple cool-down exercises, Ukai called it a day and they were allowed to head back to the locker room.

Kei frowned as he peeled off his sweaty jersey. A couple drops of blood had dripped onto the front without his noticing, so he'd have to toss that into the laundry the next day, too.

“Hey, Tsukishima!” Kei flinched as a towel whipped his back. He twisted his face into the most sour expression he could muster, not in the mood to put up with his teammates' banter.

“So, this was your last practice with a timer, huh, Tsukishima?”

“Tsukishima's gonna be a family man from now on!” he heard Nishinoya yell from behind before feeling the entire weight of the little libero's body crashing down onto his back and straddling his waist, arms wrapped around his throat.

“Get off me,” he grunted, squirming underneath the weight.

“Can't believe _Tsukishima's_ timer runs out first. So unfair,” Tanaka huffed, arms crossed over his chest, though he was still grinning widely. “What kind of girl do you think you'll get? One that's more tsun-tsun or dere-dere?”

“Please never use those words again,” he choked out, grabbing Nishinoya's arm and pulling it away from his throat. Nishinoya's grip loosened for a moment before wrapping tighter around his chest.

“Dere-dere for sure, man, she's gotta be warm and funny,” Nishinoy cackled from his position, body wrapped around him like a koala to a tree trunk. “That would be hilarious!”

“Good point, good point,” Tanaka conceded, rubbing at his chin with a thoughtful look on his face. “But we need to think about what's good for _Tsukishima._ A relationship like that probably wouldn't work out.”

“Hm, you're right.” Kei coughed in a breath as Nishinoya finally let go and slid down to the ground. “Tsukishima's really smart,” Noya continued, “she should be smart, too.”

“Now we're getting somewhere. She probably gets A's all the time,” Tanaka nodded sagely.

“I think she'll be really tall!” Hinata piped up. “Almost as tall as Tsukishima.”

“Ohhh, now _that_ would be something!” Tanaka belted out a laugh. “We can't have her be a pipsqueak! How awkward would that be?” He pumped a fist into his palm, the air around him growing serious. “I hope my soulmate's tall.”

“Hey, Kageyama, what do you think?” Hinata turned to the other boy who was staring into the depths of his locker with the usual constipated look on his face, brows furrowed and lips spread into a thin line.

“What?” he barked, caught off guard since he clearly hadn't been listening.

“Tsukishima! His soulmate. What do you think she'll be like?” Hinata yelled at the top of his lungs like an old man shouting at his deaf retirement buddy.

“She...?”

A heavy blanket of tense silence fell upon the locker room, thick and suffocating. Once again, Kei found himself wishing he could descend into the pits of hell.

“That's...” Tanaka rubbed at the back of his head, “I guess you've got a point. We never really asked. Hey, Tsukishima, which do you... ah... prefer...?”

“I'd prefer it if we stopped having this conversation,” he answered bluntly.

“Showers are open,” their captain's blessed voice cut in, lifting up the veil of discomfort that had been about to strangle Kei to death. The rest of the team followed suit behind him, towels wrapped around waists and shoulders. Ennoshita was still cleaning out his ears with one of them.

“All right!” Nishinoya shouted before running off, their uncomfortable conversation all but forgotten as he shot in the direction of the showers, bare feet making a rapid-fire _pat pat pat_ noise against the cement floor. Tanaka burst off after him with Hinata and Kageyama in tow.

“Don't run!” Sawamura roared. “It's still wet back there!”

Kei turned back to his locker to grab his things, catching sight of the white bandage wrapped around his wrist as he reached forward. The cloth would get loose and mushy in the water. It was probably best if he removed it now, he decided, tucking a finger underneath and ripping it a tear down the side. The bandage fell away, unveiling the rapidly decreasing numbers on the inside of his wrist. 00:00:00:02:31:39. His heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of the low digits.

“Tsukishima.” He swiveled around to see Suga smiling brightly at him, Sawamura pulling on his T-shirt at the locker next to his. “We're going to buy some things for the party after we're done here. You want to come with?”

“Oh. Sure,” he replied, bowing a little in response.

“Cool. We'll wait while you shower, take your time.” Suga grinned before focusing on getting dressed again.

Kei did end up hurrying, just a little, both because he didn't want to keep his seniors waiting for him too long, but also because he knew if he spent too long in the shower he'd end up staring at his timer again. There had to be some studies on the psychological effects of a low timer because he could _swear_ that a soft ticking had started up somewhere deep inside his brain, quiet yet incessant, reminding him of what was soon to come. He rubbed at the numbers with soap and rinsed them underneath the high pressure water spouting from the shower head but of course they stayed, ticking down second by second as they had his entire life. He sighed. He wasn't sure what he'd expected.

 

–

 

Sugawara and Sawamura had been waiting just outside for him after he'd finished, huddled together underneath a tree, heads bowed close to each other and speaking in hushed tones. Suga spotted him first and waved at him to come over. He obliged, stepping forward until the tree's shadow fell over him, feeling as though he had interrupted something private.

“We're heading over to Sakanoshita to buy something to eat before walking into the main part of town, sound good?” Sawamura stated, pushing himself off of the tree trunk.

“What are we looking for?” Kei asked.

“Food and drinks, mostly,” Suga chimed in. “Some decorations, if we can find good ones. We've cleaned up our apartment already so it could just use a couple of touch-ups.”

Kei pursed his lips, unsure how to tell them that none of their concern was necessary. He would have been just as happy waiting for his soulmate at home, ordering takeout and studying in his room until his timer ticked zero and the love of his life magically showed up at his door.

“Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because it's fun and we care about you. Now stop complaining,” Suga retorted, already pushing Kei ahead.

 

–

 

Sawamura bought the three of them pork buns. Kei offered to pay for his own but he refused, saying something along the lines of “I'm your captain” and “it's your day, don't worry about it.” Kei just thanked him and took the proffered pork bun gratefully while Sugawara snickered off to the side.

The door to the local supermarket jingled as they entered, announcing the presence of the three college boys. Kei shivered. The air by the entrance was chilly, cold seeping out from the row of freezers lined down the first aisle.

“Hmm, I think we'll get through this faster if we split up,” Suga pondered out loud as he looked over a small sheet of paper he'd magicked out of thin air. “I can hit the snacks and you take care of the drinks?”

“Sounds good,” Sawamura agreed, picking up a basket from the stack and hoisting it around his shoulder. “Tsukishima? You coming with me?”

“Sure,” he mumbled, feeling distinctly out of place spending time with his seniors outside of volleyball practice. He kept pace with Sawamura a couple of steps behind, hands tucked in his pockets and head bent down so as not to seem quite as tall standing next to his shorter captain. Sawamura hummed a little as he puttered around from aisle to aisle, occasionally picking up a distinctly non-party-related product that he assumed was really for his apartment as opposed to the upcoming festivity itself. At least, bleach wasn't really something that one would pour into the punch bowl.

Eventually they meandered their way into the drinks aisle, not having uttered a single word to each other for the past ten minutes or so since they'd split off from Suga.

Sawamura paused in front of a stack of soda bottles, appearing lost in thought before finally speaking up.

“Hey, Tsukishima, what kind of pop do you want?” he asked, basket in one hand while the other scratched at his head thoughtfully, his eyes skimming over the various different brands.

“I really don't care.”

“Come on, it's your soulday party,” he argued, although he'd already reached forward for one of the bottles.

“Well, seeing as this party's been started by you, hosted at your place, and you're currently buying things for it, it seems like it's _your_ soulday party.”

“But it's _your_ soulmate,” Sawamura countered, his arms now full of soda. He looked down at the bottles he was holding to his chest. “Is coke okay?”

“Sure.”

“All right,” Sawamura said, hefting the bottles up higher with a _hup_ and teetering a little with the weight _._ “Probably should have grabbed two baskets.”

Kei thought of offering to carry some of the bottles for him, but something disconnected between his brain and his mouth and the proposal died on his tongue before it could make its way into the open. Sawamura carried on unperturbed, humming to a song he couldn't quite identify.

“You know, you could try looking a little more excited,” Sawamura interruped his humming to state as they reached the end of the aisle. He glanced over his shoulder at Kei. “I get that it's not in your personality to be happy about things,” _I'm not happy about things?_ “but you could stand to smile a bit more... or... I don't know, at least be grateful.” He shuffled the bottles of soda around, tucking a couple underneath his arms before continuing. “Most people wait years for their soulmates. Today's finally your day. You _should_ be excited. I would be.”

Kei's gaze wandered down to the still ticking numbers partially visible from behind one of the clear bottles Sawamura was holding and his thoughts turned to Sugawara.

“Would you?”

The inappropriateness of the words registered in his mind the moment they'd left his mouth, but it was too late, he couldn't take them back. Sawamura's shoulders stiffened and stopped walking. Kei ground to a halt behind him, nearly stepping on the back of his captain's shoes. Chilled silence fell over the two and Kei's heart sank before he'd even said anything.

“Know what?” Sawamura turned around, voice clipped and devoid of emotion. Shivers scaled their way up and down Kei's spine at the sight of his captain's stoic face. “You're right. We're doing too much for you. This is _your_ soulday party after all.” He shoved the bottles of soda into Kei's chest, who struggled to catch them before they clattered on the ground. “Carry your own damn things.”

Kei didn't dare protest. He took the bottles without a word and shuffled them around in his arms before following after Sawamura who'd started walking again. There were about five bottles in all, heavy and filled to the brim with carbonated liquid which joggled around every step he took. One of the bottles tipped to the front and he slammed his chin down on it to keep it from falling.

“Daichi! Tsukishima!” Kei couldn't help but breathe out a sigh of relief at the sight of Sugawara peeking out from two aisles down. Sawamura's counterpart had an innate skill of being able to ease tension whenever it arose, sometimes forcefully.

“Look what I got for your soulday party!” Suga continued, peeling around the corner until he was in full view.

Horror and disgust flipped around in Kei's stomach at the sight of the bright red balloon gripped tightly by the string in Suga's fist. Illegally large and revoltingly cute, the double heart-shaped balloon bobbed just above Suga's head, the words “HAPPY SOULDAY” scrawled in a fancy cursive font oddly reminiscent of the Disney logo. Two tiny bears had been badly pasted in underneath DAY, their furry little arms wrapped around each other.

Suga burst into a fit of giggles, finally letting go of the damned thing and letting it float up to the low ceiling. “I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I'd never seriously buy that for you!” he wrapped his arms around his stomach as he laughed louder, the basket of snacks hanging off of his wrist bumping into his legs. “You should take a look at your face! Oh, jeez...”

Kei felt the blood rush up to his face and he pouted, looking off to the side to try and hide his embarrassment. Sawamura was snickering next to him, his deeper chuckles melding with Sugawara's higher-pitched tittering.

“Are we done here?” he interrupted. He gestured to the bottles in his arms with a tilt of his head. “I can just go pay for these...”

“Relax, relax, no need to get huffy,” Sawamura grabbed his shoulder, his grip strong and firm. “Suga? Are you good to go? I've got everything I need here, just want to buy some alcohol at the front before we leave.”

“Yeah, I'm done,” Suga said, his voice still a little out of breath. He lifted up the basket and tilted it so Kei could get a better look at the contents inside. “All this look appetizing to you?”

Kei raised an eyebrow at the vast amount of food Suga had collected. Guilt settled in his gut as he hazarded a guess at the total monetary value of the products currently lying inside the cheap red basket. How much were they planning on spending on him?

Chips, dip, and other various junk foods were scattered in the basket. His eyes fell on the strawberry shortcake tucked into the corner underneath a bag of edamame. He nodded, his mouth already watering.

“This is just snacks, anyway. The rest of the team promised they'd bring over more substantial food,” Suga added, dropping the basket to his side. “I think I'll also order some pizza once the snacks are gone. Can never be sure how many guests will show up to these kind of parties.”

“No, this is more than fine. Thank you, Suga-san...” he glanced over at Sawamura who seemed to have forgotten Kei's blunder a few minutes prior. “...Captain. Thank you for all you two have done so far. I can pay for the food...”

“Now, now, enough of the formalities,” Suga scolded lightly, flicking a finger against his forehead. “This party's for us, too. It's been a while since our last wild night. Don't even think about it.”

“Right...” Kei grunted, allowing himself to be pushed to the front of the store.

 

–

 

The first guests started arriving at six-thirty. Ennoshita, Kinoshita, and Narita were first, entering in through the entrance hall one-by-one with their arms full of food and alcohol. Kei watched from his seat in the corner of the living room as they set down their things on a long table specifically set up for the party and headed into the kitchen to make small talk with the hosts, stopping for a moment to wave in his direction.

He lifted a hand in response, glad that the three hadn't attempted to approach him or ask about his timer. The ticking numbers on his wrist caught his eye as he put his arm down. Just a little under two hours left. It wouldn't take long before the rest of the guests would show up and, eventually, his soulmate. His stomach sank at the thought of what was to come. He wasn't sure which he dreaded the most – the party itself or his numbers reaching zero.

Azumane came next carrying a large hot pot, then Hinata and Kageyama bounded in five minutes later, arguing loudly over who'd stepped through the threshold into the apartment first until the captain clocked them both on the heads and ordered them to shut up. Kei snickered in his corner, leading into instant regret as he caught Hinata's attention.

“Tsukishima! How's your timer?” he shot towards him, skidding to a stop right before crashing into his chair.

“Ticking. What kind of question is that?” He looked at the volleyball-shaped object tucked in Hinata's arms. “What is _that_?”

“It's a piñata!” Hinata shouted proudly, lifting up the blue-and-yellow papier-mâché by a string at the top. It rotated around lazily, long strands of brightly-colored paper sticking out from the sides twirling and fluttering in the miniscule air currents.

“Why did you bring a piñata?”

“It's Natsu's. Her class has been studying Mexican culture and when she heard one of my teammates was having a soulday party, she made it for you.”

Kei blinked, taken aback at the unexpected kind gesture from a person he'd never met.

“Er... well, thank you.”

“Yeah. I don't think we should break it, though.” He started bumping the piñata against his forearms like a real ball, the papier-mâché making a hollow thump with each impact. He grabbed the ball with both hands at a particularly high crest and brought it safely back to his chest. “I'm gonna go ask Captain for some tape or something so we can hang it up,” he said, running off in the direction of the kitchen and leaving Kei alone again.

From that point on, people starting coming in larger numbers and at a more frequent pace, friends he recognized at first, then friends of friends, then friends of friends of friends, until he began to wonder whether these people knew anybody at the party at all. With every guest came the prying questions, the “who's the lucky guy?”, the requests to look at his wrist. He gritted his teeth every time he had to twist his wrist around to display the ever decreasing numbers marked on his skin. They'd squeal or murmur congratulations before moving on to pick at the food, interest abated now that they'd had a chance to gawk at the main attraction.

He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling, heaving a deep sigh from the dredges of his soul. He had just about an hour left before his soulmate showed up. Could he leave right after his timer ended? he wondered to himself. What if his soulmate wanted to stay? What if they were a social butterfly, too, just like the rest of his teammates? He lifted his glasses onto his forehead and rubbed at his face, exhaustion and apprehension already dragging him down. No matter what happened next, or who fate decided to pair him up with, his life was going to irrevocably change. Why was everyone so happy about that?

“Hey, hey! The lives of the party are here!” Two familiar voices shouted over the already loud hum of the party. Tanaka and Nishinoya. He sat up and adjusted his glasses, blurred images condensing into solid forms.

Oh, _fuck_ no.

His attention shot straight to the horrendous bobbing heart-shaped balloon floating above Nishinoya's head.

This was over. He stood from his chair and crouched as he ducked through in the crowd in the direction of the bathroom. Maybe he could squeeze out the window and leave that way. Meet his soulmate in the streets of Sendai. They'd be more likely to be a homeless drug addict that way, but, well, that was just the kind of risk he'd have to take.

“Tsukishima!” The force of a cannonball slammed into his back, shoving him against the nearest innocent bystander. He spat out a quick apology before turning to find himself face-to-face with the plastic abomination he thought he'd left safely behind at the local supermarket.

“How's the party going?” Nishinoya asked, face-splitting grin spread from ear to ear. Tanaka followed closely behind, a bottle of sake gripped in each of his fists.

“Terrible.”

Tanaka burst out with his hearty laugh. “Well, it'll get better now that we're here! Right, Noya?”

“Right!” Nishinoya chirped, the balloon bouncing up and down with his erratic movements. He leaned in close, the alcohol on his breath giving away that they must have gotten an early start on the sake Tanaka was holding. “How many girls have you had dote on you tonight?”

“Oh. Um...” he looked to the side as his brain rewound the night's events, speeding through the dozens of new faces he'd had to entertain over the course of the evening. “I didn't keep track.”

“What?”

“Ugh...” The two boys groaned and made sounds of disgust, hiding their faces behind their hands and pretending like they'd been stabbed in the chest.

“The ungratefulness...”

“Girls LOVE dudes with low timers...”

Kei waited until they'd mostly finished with their theatrics before speaking up again. “Kay, well, if we're done here, I have to go... take a shit, so...” he pointed a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, even though he didn't, really, but the sooner he could sit in his corner again, the better.

“Wait, wait, let's take a picture!” Nishinoya grabbed him by the wrist and shoved the balloon string into his hand, twisting his body around to stand by Kei's side.

“Ooh, good idea, Noya! We gotta preserve this memory forever,” Tanaka agreed, whipping out his phone and skidding around to Kei's other side. “Okay, say cheese!”

Kei twisted his mouth into an expression that was more disgruntled grimace than honest smile.

“Tsukishima, show your wrist! Your wrist!”

“No, higher.”

“Like that.”

“Lower the balloon! It needs to be in the shot.”

“If I lower the balloon, my wrist won't be in the shot anymore.”

“Then switch hands!”

“Like that, like that! Okay, stay still... three, two, one, cheese!”

Heavy weight pressed down on his left shoulder as Nishinoya jumped, using Kei's shoulder as leverage to look taller for the split second the camera's shutter snapped shut.

“Hey, we look great!” Two hands simultaneously slammed into this back, beating the breath out of his lungs and making him double over in pain.

“Congratulations!”

“Call us over when your timer's almost up.”

“Kiyoko's outside in the back, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. I don't see her in here.”

Interest satisfied, the two wild cards left him standing where he was, disgusting balloon still in hand, feeling like he'd been hit by a tornado. He stared up at the monstrosity floating at the end of the white string wrapped up in his unwilling hand, and the hugging bears stared back at him with their adorable, soulless eyes. He couldn't help but suppress a shudder. This thing needed to go.

He glanced around the room, taking stock of his surroundings. There were about fifty people gathered in the living room area alone, and at least half of that amount in the kitchen and in the small patio outside, with new guests showing up every five to ten minutes. Most were concentrated around the long table he'd helped Sugawara and Sawamura set up, picking at the food that had been set there buffet-style. A fair amount of guests were sitting on the couch, on stools, chairs, windowsills, and the floor, collected in smaller groups of four and five, talking to each other and drinking out of plastic cups. He considered opening one of the windows and shoving the balloon out into the night, but Tanaka and Nishinoya would notice its disappearance eventually and question him about it. Even if he tried to lie, they wouldn't believe it and blame him for its absence anyway. No, he needed an alibi.

He dragged his eyes over the crowd of people gathered around the table of food, stopping at the hot pot and the waves of heat emanating from the top, distorting the image behind it. A girl who'd come up to compare timers with him earlier stood next to the large bowl, the light from an uncovered incandescent bulb above shining down on her head and casting her shadow onto the table. Perfect.

He dodged through the crowd, making his way around the end of the table then down the length of it until he was standing underneath the light fixture and let go of the string. He watched as the balloon rose slowly to the ceiling, then nudged it a little to the side so that it was in direct physical contact, rubber flush against the electrical source of light.

That would do it.

 

–

 

To his chagrin, someone had taken his corner seat. Just as well. His stomach had rumbled at the smell of the food on the table. He'd never actually gotten around to eating dinner, so focused had he been on the party and his ticking timer. Most of the food was halfway gone by that point, picked apart by the countless intruders wandering around Sugawara and Sawamura's apartment. He collected what he could and moved to the couch to eat, squeezing in at the end next to Hinata who was engrossed in an intense game of Mario Kart with a few other guests. Not his preferred seat, but everything else had been taken at this point of the night.

He barely dodged an elbow to the face and was about to yell at Hinata to cool it when something tapped his shoulder.

Another college-aged man with black-and-white streaked spiky hair and owl-like eyes stood behind him, his mouth open and about to ask him something. Another guest.

“Yes, I'm the honored guest of the night,” Kei interrupted before the man had the chance to speak, “my name is Tsukishima Kei, I'm nineteen years old, yes, I'm excited, no, I'm not nervous, yes, I'm fully aware I'm able to die now and I'll be taking the usual precautions people without timers take, and I have,” his stomach flipped at the sight of his wrist, “45 minutes left. The food's over at the table across the room and the bathroom's down the hall, take a right when you get to the last room. Have a nice time at the party.”

“Whoa! You had that all ready,” the stranger barked, looking amused rather than offended at Kei's frankness. “None of those were my question, though. Well, except for the first one. But I also have another one,” he rambled, his sharp gaze flicking up to the ceiling as he spoke then down at him again.

“What is it?” Kei sighed.

“Are you gay?”

“Excuse me?” he spluttered.

“Bokuto, you could have phrased that much better.” A second stranger he hadn't noticed standing behind Bokuto piped up, moving forward to stand beside him.

“What? I wouldn't judge,” Bokuto whined.

“Yeah, but _he_ doesn't know that,” Bokuto's friend stated, reaching forward and grabbing Bokuto's left hand and lifting up both their hands at once to reveal blank wrists. “He's not homophobic,” he said, letting Bokuto's hand drop back down and instead extending his own forward for a handshake.

“Akaashi Keiji. And this airhead is Bokuto Koutarou.”

“Okay...” Kei said, unsure of how to proceed.

“Anyway, I was asking for a friend,” Bokuto continued, digging his right hand into his pocket and pulling out a phone.

“A friend?”

“Yep. I think I know who your soulmate is!” he blurted in a sing-song tone, flipping the phone around and passing it off to Kei so he could see what was on the screen.

It was a selfie of Bokuto and another man, cheeks pressed together and arms wrapped around each other's shoulders. The other man in the photo looked to be about Bokuto's age with hair that was just as ridiculous. He was winking at the camera, tongue sticking out of his mouth, and really, he couldn't have looked more like a frat boy if he'd tried.

“His name's Kuroo Tetsurou. His timer runs out today, too, just like yours,” Bokuto shouted proudly, hand on his hip as he grinned widely at Kei, like he'd just solved all his problems in life.

“It does?” Kei said dumbly, staring at the photo of the two men. His heart twisted in his chest as the fact of the matter set in. That was it? He was staring at the face that was destined to show up in 45 minutes? The mental image of Kuroo's sleeping face lying next to him in bed bathed in early morning light flickered in his mind and cold fear drained through his veins.

His mouth gaped, unable to form any sort of coherent statement.

“Yeah. Your timer runs out at eight something, right?”

“8:13.”

“Sounds about right,” Bokuto nodded. “He's my best friend and a great guy. You're lucky! Though I guess he can be a bit of a troll sometimes!” he clapped his hands and cackled. “He's on his way right now. If you got any questions before he shows up, you can ask me! Akaashi can vouch for him, though. Right, Akaashi?”

“He's a decent human being.”

“Akaashi! He's this guy's _soulmate_. You're really gonna sell him like that?” Bokuto pouted, absolutely scandalized at Akaashi's lukewarm review.

Kei let their (mostly one-sided) bickering fade into the background as he brought his attention back to the phone in his hand. The selfie must have been taken at the beach, he noted, given the natural lighting and the dab of white lotion on the tip of Kuroo's nose that hadn't been smeared in properly. And the fact that Kuroo clearly wasn't wearing a shirt, bare shoulders and clavicles poking out of the edge of the frame of the photograph.

Kuroo's left hand was draped around Bokuto's shoulder, his wrist just poking out from behind Bokuto's thick neck. He squinted his eyes and tilted the phone to the side a little, trying to peer at the black ink printed below his hand. He could just make out the end of the string of numbers on his wrist--

_Ker-BLAM_

Screams filled the air as something exploded. Kei whipped his head around, scrambling not to drop Bokuto's phone, to see people ducking and eyes flying towards where the atrocious balloon had been idly floating moments before, now nothing but a couple of scraps of rubber on the floor.

“No! Not the balloon!” Nishinoya screamed from the kitchen area in the back, diving towards the floor where the remains of the balloon carcass were scattered like he was about to receive a serve.

“Tsukishima's love life is doomed!” came Tanakas's voice next, following right behind his friend. He threw himself onto the ground, picking up the pieces of rubber in his hands and sobbing loudly.

“What happened? What was that noise?” Sawamura barged in from outside, face creased in a mix of concern and irritation.

“Oh! Hey, there's Daichi! Hey! Daichi!” Bokuto shouted, speeding away in the captain's direction, his attention completely diverted now from their conversation, leaving Kei behind with his phone still in his hands. Akaashi watched his partner sprint across the room with an expressionless face before flopping down on a nearby recently vacated beanbag chair.

He glanced up at Kei who was struggling with whether he should intervene between the captain and Bokuto's conversation to give him his phone back or to wait for the latter to notice his missing mobile.

“Keep it. He won't notice it's gone. You can give it to him at the end of the night.”

Kei blinked. “Ah. Okay.” He nodded and turned back to the picture of Kuroo staring at him through the phone screen.

He felt the sudden urge to see more, but feared flipping through Bokuto's gallery without his permission. He chewed on his lip until it occurred to him that he could probably access Bokuto's facebook friends without needing to sign in.

Kuroo's profile photo sported the same mussed-up hair in the last picture and swiping through the rest of his tagged images proved this to be a... recurring pattern. Really, was it so hard to buy a brush? Kei huffed but kept skimming through the man's page despite himself, clicking on random images and posts and reading through them quickly, as if reading through them at a slower pace would alert the man to his stalking somehow. His fist clenched and unclenched itself nervously, a finger looping through the belt strap and tugging on it. His heart beat rapidly, chest tight and squeezing his organs into a constricted little ball. He tried to imagine having dinner with Kuroo in a small apartment with a pet cat, paying the bills and raising children with him, but the ball squeezed tighter at the thought and he dispelled the images from his mind. They felt wrong, somehow.

He tucked his discomfort away and kept scrolling, making his way deeper into Kuroo's page, because he couldn't stop, because he couldn't think of anything better to do.

His breath caught in his throat as he reached the one year mark. Kuroo had taken a photo of himself exactly one year prior, presumably in his bedroom, from the look of the mess behind him. But it hadn't been the mounds of dirty clothing piled on the floor that had shocked him into pausing (although if Kuroo really was his soulmate, that was something that would need to be fixed, stat).

Kuroo's wrist was held in front of his face, partially covering it but leaving enough for him to see his almost shy smile. The numbers were frozen at exactly 01:00:00:00:00:00.

 _One year left to go!_ The caption underneath the selfie read. _Can't wait to meet you, babe_ . _ <3 _

Kei slammed the off button on the phone, just barely resisting the urge to toss it across the room. Waves of anxiety and nausea washed over him, making him feel sick and angry. He bit at his thumbnail, a habit he hadn't indulged in since he was fourteen, he realized with another wave of disgust. He removed his finger from his mouth and turned his hand around, pressing the back of his wrist against his lips and bringing his legs up to his chest. He remained in his half-fetal position for a while, letting the sounds of the party blend into the background as he stared into space, his mind occupied with the singular thought of the numbers on the other side of his wrist.

He wondered why fate had to be so concrete. If he could wind his timer up to a hundred years, he would.

“ _Oof!_ ” he grunted as something hard and pointy crashed into his ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs and shocking him out of his anxious brooding.

“You bastard! I can't believe you _blue-shelled me!_ ” Hinata slurred, pushing his hands and elbows against Kei's chest and legs as he tried to lift himself back into a sitting position.

“Watch it!” he barked, grabbing Hinata's arm and pushing him off of himself.

“Tsukishima!” Hinata laughed, hands extending for his face and smudging up his glasses. “You're here!”

“What--?” he gripped Hinata's wrist and held him away at arm's length, finally getting a good look at the boy's rosy cheeks and unkempt hair. “Are you _drunk_?”

“Nooooo,” he scoffed, stopping his attack on Tsukishima's face and letting his arms dangle from where Kei held them at the wrist. His friends snickered behind him. “If you think I'm drunk, you should take a look at Kageyama.” He lifted an index finger to point in the direction of the other boy who was sitting about a meter away on a chair, legs crossed and back straight. He had an intense expression on his face, jaw clenched tightly and eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the TV screen.

“He looks...” Kei struggled to find the right word to describe his colleague. “...normal.”

“Oh, yeah? Here, watch,” Hinata gestured to his friend to pass over a grape. He rolled the grape around in his palm, then held it between his thumb and index finger and closed one eye, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he measured the distance between himself and Kageyama. Kei was about to growl at him to just let him do it, but before he could, Hinata chucked the grape. He watched as the green object whizzed through the air to land squarely against Kageyama's chest and roll down into his lap.

He tensed, expecting one of the King's patented explosions, but nothing came. Kageyama kept staring forwards, concentration focused entirely on the television screen. He waited. One beat. Two beats. Three beats.

“Hinata, what the hell?” Kageyama finally burst, attention snapping to the side, nostrils flared and eyes filled with murderous intent. “What was that for?”

Hinata collapsed into giggles next to him, feet pedaling in the air and face tucked against his closest friend's shoulder.

Kageyama stopped yelling and shot daggers at Hinata, though he made no move to get up and fight him. Kei grabbed another grape from the bowl and whipped it at him, this time the grape hitting Kageyama perfectly in the middle of his forehead.

Again, nothing happened for a full ten seconds, until Kageyama burst back to life, barking at Kei this time to quit it.

“Oh my God,” Kei snorted, “this is what he's like when he's drunk?”

“It's the best,” Hinata nodded fervently. “He goes into like slow motion or something. It's easy to play tricks on him this way. I made him punch a cake once!”

“Why didn't anyone tell me this sooner?” Kei sneered. This was almost _too_ good.

Hinata shrugged. “You were never aroun--”

“That was you?!”

“Kageyama, go home! You're drunk!”

Someone vibrated in his lap and he looked down to see Bokuto's phone screen turn itself on, the word KUROO imprinted in the center with the commands to answer or reject the call below.

His heart leaped into his throat, all the queasiness from earlier rushing back. His thumb hovered over the reject call button, heavily debating with himself whether he should just let it go to voicemail or not. Soulmates weren't supposed to make contact before they met. Doing so would bring bad luck. Far be it for Kei to actually _believe_ in such ridiculous superstitions, but... maybe Kuroo did. And anyway, this was Bokuto's phone. Kuroo didn't want to talk to him, he wanted to speak with Bokuto.

He looked up at Akaashi who was busy with his own phone, blissfully unaware of the emotional turmoil Kei was suffering through at that moment.

“Um,” he started, his voice barely audible above Kageyama and Hinata's drunken squabble.

He scoffed. Typical.

“Move,” he ordered, shoving Hinata off of his lap. He swayed a little as he stood, his legs feeling gelatinous and unstable. Fuck.

“Akaashi,” he choked out a little louder now as he walked up to him.

Akaashi arched a brow as they made eye contact. Kei twisted the phone screen around to let him see who was calling. Akaashi opened his mouth, expression open and understanding. He reached forward for the phone and Kei obliged, feeling more than the weight of the phone lift off of him as he handed it over.

“Yes?” Akaashi said.

Incomprehensible twittering emitted from the device, Kuroo's tinny voice drifting out from the receiver and into Akaashi's ear.

“Yes...” Akaashi looked down at his nails as the squeaking continued, playing with his fingers and cracking them with his thumb. Kei scratched at his timer, lowering his gaze to the floor as he waited. Fifteen minutes left.

“Hang on,” Akaashi piped up again. “I don't think you ever actually answered,” he spoke to Kei, hand covering the receiver. “Are you gay?”

Embarrassment washed over Kei at the frank question. It hadn't been uttered as loudly as Bokuto had half an hour ago, but it still felt as though the sentence must have echoed through the whole room. Well, what did it matter anyway? Everyone would find out in less than fifteen minutes at any rate.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Akaashi turned back to his phone. “He says yes... Okay, Kuroo... good-bye.”

“He said he's running late but he'll be here soon,” Akaashi said as he passed the phone back to Kei.

“How can he be _running late_?” Kei asked. No one was late for their timer; such a concept didn't exist.

Akaashi shrugged noncommittally. “I think he just meant the train was running slower than he expected it to. Or something.” He pointed at Kei's wrist. “How long've you got?”

Kei twisted his wrist around to show him the dwindling numbers currently hovering just above the fourteen minute mark. Akaashi's eyebrows raised at the sight but his expression didn't change otherwise. “He better hurry up, then,” was all he said before heading back to his seat.

Kei glanced down at the phone held tightly in his hand before tucking it into his back pocket. Anxiety had built up significantly in the pit of his stomach after the phone call and he couldn't even bear the thought of looking through Kuroo's profile again.

The next ten minutes passed by in a dazed blur as he wandered from room to room, squeezing through and between groups of drunk twenty-somethings, too antsy to sit still and too stubborn to find a private space.

He did eventually find himself shoved into a corner behind a couple whose timers had dropped an hour before and who'd party-hopped to Sawamura's apartment because apparently people liked to visit _other_ soulday parties after meeting their soulmates. He averted his eyes from their makeout session and pressed the side of his face against the wall, one hand wrapped over his wrist that currently read six minutes. It felt like death was encroaching upon him from all angles, peering into the room and wrapping a scythe around his neck.

“Haven't seen you all night. How are you holding up?”

Kei flinched, startled at the sudden interruption to his morbid train of thought.

“Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you,” Suga said, sidling up next to him and leaning against the wall. “How much time've you got left?”

“Uh--” he stumbled for words so opted to show his senior the numbers instead. Suga's eyes widened and a flicker of concern flashed across his face before turning and gesturing to Sawamura to come join them.

“That's, um, that's really low,” Suga whispered.

“What's up?” Sawamura asked as he jogged up to them. He slowed down at the look of complete anguish on Kei's face and glanced from side to side between both men.

Suga looked to Kei to ask for permission to show his wrist and he nodded, allowing Suga to lift his wrist up closer to Sawamura's face.

Sawamura's mouth curved in a perfect O before morphing back into a confident smile as he moved forward and patted Kei on the shoulder.

“Congratulations.”

“What was that?” a girl he didn't recognize piped up from the nearest table where she was standing. “Is his timer almost up?”

“His timer's almost up?!” her friend next to her squeaked, tilting her head forward to get a better look at him.

“How much is left?” he heard someone else ask, which alerted the rest of the table to the news. Kei watched helplessly as the information spread from guest to guest, girls squealing and boys grunting in surprise, hundreds of eyes turning to stare at him like some kind of spectacle. Kei squirmed underneath all of the attention, hating his situation, his timer, his soulmate, this stupid party, and everyone in the room who cared more about his countdown than he did.

He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder and winced.

“We'll be right back, everyone. There's still quite a few minutes left, no worries,” Suga announced, dragging Kei along into the back and exchanging a quick glance with Sawamura.

He followed Sugawara into the bathroom, standing in the center of the tiny room underneath the stairs as Suga closed the door behind them. He stared down at his hands, his gaze wandering to the flickering numbers reading seconds over five minutes now.

“Sorry about that. That wasn't supposed to, uh... spread.”

He shrugged, afraid to open his mouth in case his voice broke.

“You know, it's normal to be nervous,” Suga started, his hands waving around awkwardly as he struggled to string his thoughts together. “But you shouldn't be-- uh, _just_ nervous, this, this is, a happy thing, you know?”

“Is it?” he spat out sardonically, a little more poisonous than he'd meant it to, but his anxiety was practically drowning him at this point, slowly filling up his lungs and inundating his senses.

“Yeah. A little awkward at first, maybe, but...” he sighed and looked down at his own wrist, still at over a decade left. “Meeting your soulmate's hard, but... so's waiting.” He smiled up at Kei as he stuffed his fist into his pocket. “And the numbers on your wrist don't dictate your feelings. Sometimes you develop emotions for someone before your time is up. And... you don't feel like waiting anymore.” Suga paused for a second, staring at a point in space as he chewed on his lip. “Sorry.” He shook his head. “I guess what I meant to say was... things happen for a reason. And all in all, you're pretty lucky.”

Silence stretched between them as Kei's anxiety gnawed at the edges of his mind.

“But at least you know you'll live until you're thirty.”

He waited with bated breath as Suga interpreted his statement, eyes locked on the floor between them, too ashamed to make eye contact.

“...Is that what you're afraid of? Dying?”

“No,” he snapped, turning his head to the side to examine a stain on the wall. “But don't you think people talk too much about soulmates and love and not enough about... safety?”

“Hmm, I guess you're right.” Kei snapped his head around to finally look at Suga who was looking at him with a kind, open expression on his face. “But the chances are so low, it's just not likely. And I think people would rather think about happy things than about their own mortality.”

Kei nodded, wishing they could end the conversation already. He'd revealed too much about himself. Silence overshadowed their discussion again for what felt like an eternity but what had to be less than five minutes.

“I'll leave you alone if you'd like,” Suga finally said. “No one will bother you here.”

Kei nodded again, waiting for the door to close behind his senior before sitting down on the toilet and huddling his legs up against his chest. His wrist was down to three minutes and some change now. About the length of a song. Maybe if he put his headphones on and closed his eyes, by the time the song ended his soulmate would be standing in front of him.

He swallowed and curled into a tighter ball, feeling his anxiety build up again, the walls of the tiny bathroom moving in and squeezing him in its confined space. He thought of Kuroo Tetsurou making his way to him in a crowded train. He thought of his unwritten future, about to be concretized by the next person to walk though the front door. He thought of his brother for a moment, driving home from another late night at work, stuck in the Saturday evening traffic into Sendai.

He stood over the sink and splashed water on his face, the sensation of apprehension running up and down the back of his legs, setting him more and more on edge. He shivered; it felt cold all of a sudden and he wasn't sure whether it was the bathroom's distance to the apartment's heater or just the stress gathered in his chest, taut and ready to snap at any moment.

The spot above the bridge of his nose had developed a bruise, he realized, as he leaned over the sink counter. A purple-ish spot that could be mistaken for a shadow in the right lighting. The volleyball match earlier that day felt like eons ago, another lifetime entirely. He flinched as he poked at it. It would take a while for it to heal.

He thought too late that he probably should have put in more of an effort to make himself look nicer for his soulmate. He wasn't even wearing anything nice.

A light rapping at the door made him jump and clench the edge of the sink tightly.

“It's me,” Suga's soft voice echoed through the wooden door. “Can I come in?”

Kei nodded before realizing that Suga wouldn't see his visual cue and stuttering out an affirmative.

The door creaked open as Suga poked his head around the opening.

“There's someone at the front door,” he stated. Kei twisted his wrist around in time to see the minutes space turn into a zero, leaving him with 59 seconds.

“I think it's for you,” Suga continued.

Kei nodded again and straightened his back, shaking out his shoulders and fixing his posture so he was standing at his full height. He was a tall guy, incredibly so, and unfolding himself to his full two meters instilled a false confidence in himself. At least he could look down on people that way.

“I'll close the front hall door behind you, so you'll have some privacy when you meet them,” Suga offered as he stepped past the threshold and out the stuffy bathroom. The proposal brought him a moment of relief, despite everything, and he graciously thanked Sugawara for it.

The living room's atmosphere had changed, completely, enveloped in dead silence as the party-goers parted a path for him. The hundred-some guests had crammed themselves into the room, perched on edges of armchairs and shoved into corners, standing on their tiptoes so they could witness his death march. Suga followed closely behind and the thought _dead man walking_ drifted through his mind.

The team had seated themselves near the front, half of them gathered around the potted plant near the doorway, the other half on the other side of the path they'd cleared for him. They grinned and howled at him as he passed by, crawling over each other to vie for his attention, Nishinoya and Tanaka yelling encouragement (and a couple of crude suggestions that earned them a stone-cold glare from Sawamura), Azumane smiling weakly, Hinata tossing him a thumbs up and jabbing an elbow in Kageyama's ribs to do the same. Bokuto had managed to weave himself into the group, hooting along with the rest of them like he was familiar with them already. He paused at the closed door to the lobby, making eye contact with Narita who had situated himself next to it with the rest of the calmer second years.

He smiled and offered a quiet “good luck.”

Kei adjusted his glasses as Suga opened the front hall door for him and passed through steadily, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature. The door shut behind him, leaving him alone in the long hallway that seemed to stretch for miles before him.

The floorboards creaked underneath his weight, echoing around the chamber and into his bones, sparking his thumping heart to beat faster still. Anxiety flared up and down his limbs, buzzing just underneath his skin as he stopped before the main door, breath coming in shorter bursts the closer he got to his fate.

He lifted a hand to the doorknob but pulled it back suddenly, fear trickling down the back of his neck at the thought of twisting the knob. He twisted his wrist around, wondering how long destiny would allow him to procrastinate before having to open the door.

Ten seconds. Nine. Eight.

His arm lunged for the doorknob, grappling with the cold metal surface but not quite turning it yet, just gripping it tightly in his sweaty palm. He huffed a breath out through his nose. He looked ridiculous, he was sure of it. He thought of peeking through the peephole but the idea terrified him, as if there would be a gaping black hole on the other end. His heartbeat thrummed loudly in his eardrums, drowning out everything around him. The image of Kuroo's one year selfie flashed through his mind and he forced himself to twist the doorknob.

He finally pulled the door open, feeling as though he were tossing himself into a white abyss.

He blinked at the sight that greeted him on the other side. Another man was standing on the front doorstep, tall and lanky, a swath of freckles spread across his face from cheek to cheek, and a mop of dark gray hair sticking out from underneath a cap that read SHIMADA PIZZA. The boxes of pizza he was holding with one arm visibly vibrated, betraying his nervousness.

Kei's eyes snapped over just in time to see the man's wrist resting on top of the pizza boxes reach zero and flicker red before disappearing.

The man shuffled from foot to foot, a nervous smile quivering on his face as he looked up at Kei.

“Hi.” A bubble of anxious laughter disrupted his voice as he spoke. “Uh-- s-somebody ordered pizza?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh it's finally done thank you all for waiting!!! I had some troubles with this chapter but I'm glad it's finally finished.
> 
> Credit to @spacialstars for beta'ing as usual and helping me out with the ending especially.
> 
> Enjoy~

The train hissed as the doors closed and it took off again, the steady, monotonous, thrumming of the rails against the wheels growing louder then dimming into the background, mixing with the various hushed voices and soft coughs from the passengers crowded around him. Kuroo sighed and let his eyes drift closed, just a little, the exhaustion from a full day of classes, practice, and work coupled with the pressure of a dwindling timer finally settling heavily on his shoulders.

He still had about 45 minutes left on his wrist, giving him more than enough time to arrive at the station in northern Sendai and locate Bokuto's friend's apartment. He'd taken care to ask for early leave from his night job in order to give himself enough time to commute. They were hours he'd have to make up the following Monday at the unforgiving restaurant he'd had the misfortune to work for, but he hadn't been left with much of a choice if he wanted to make it to the party before his timer ran out.

Oh, the things he did for love.

The hanging strap dug into the palm of his hand and into his thoughts and he blinked his eyes open, gaze flickering to his right hand which was still gripping onto the strap tightly. He loosened his hold and flexed his fingers, letting the blood rush back in before switching over to his left hand. He shuffled the bouquet of flowers he'd bought five minutes prior to getting on the subway around in his arms until he was comfortable in his new-found position.

His left arm sleeve dropped a little with the weight of gravity, unveiling the twelve digits stained into the skin on his wrist.

00:00:00:00:42:05.

His eyes focused on the row of people to his side all standing just like him, arms raised and gripping onto various straps and stanchions, a forest of limbs and wrists stretching up into the air. Most of the wrists were blank, some still ticking away numbers. The majority of the still-ticking timers belonged to younger-looking passengers. He glanced down at an old woman sitting on one of the few chairs, wrinkled hands resting in her lap, palms facing up. Her wrists were blank and Kuroo idly wondered how old she'd been when she'd timed out.

The train stopped again and he took advantage of the moment to reach into his pocket and pull his phone out, fumbling with it until he was holding both the bouquet and his phone with the right side of his body while the left continued grabbing onto the strap.

Fifty messages. Jesus Christ. His teammates had been texting him nonstop since practice ended, sending him memes and good luck messages, which were well appreciated but worrying, considering some of them were supposed to be _studying_.

He chuckled at a soulday post Yamamoto had dropped into the group chat and raised his phone up to take a selfie, pasting a smirk on his face and twisting his wrist around so the numbers were clearly visible.

42 minutes left, he typed into the caption box before sending the image off. He snickered again at the mental image of Yamamoto's jealous face twisted into a snarl before the train suddenly halted to a stop. He tightened his grip as inertia slammed into his body, throwing him backwards. The other passengers gasped in collective surprise as the lights flickered off, leaving them in total darkness, only the brightness from cellphone screens punching holes in the black blanket that had engulfed the train.

“What's happening?” a girl standing next to him whimpered.

“I don't—” her friend answered, her reply cut off as the lights came back to life.

“Due to safety reasons, the train has been stopped momentarily,” the conductor's voice crackled over the intercom system. “We deeply apologize for the inconvenience. Delay certificates will be handed out at the remaining stop. Thank you.”

“Safety reasons?”

“I wonder what's...”

“...that's just my luck.”

Voices overlapped each other as the passengers around him started chattering, some to themselves, others to their friends or partners, the air laced with a tinge of apprehension still, although the driver had confirmed that everything was fine.

Kuroo glanced at his wrist again, ticking down steadily as always, unaware and unconcerned that the train that was taking him to his soulmate had frozen in its tracks. He huffed out a breath. He still had another bus to catch after the train, which would take another fifteen or so minutes to get him closer to Bokuto's friend's place, and then it would be another kilometer of walking, if Google Maps was anything to go by. The connecting bus was designated to leave at 19:57 and the next one wouldn't come for another half hour.

With 40 minutes left, that meant that it had to be about 19:50 at the moment. A quick check of his phone screen confirmed that it was, indeed, 7:50 in the PM. That would give him about seven minutes to make it to the station with a route that usually took about two. The train couldn't be stopped any longer than a couple of minutes, he decided as he unlocked his phone. Fate would start it back up again soon enough.

The passengers assumed their regular behavior shortly thereafter, albeit with a few muttered complaints here and there. They quieted down a few moments later, cowed by the crisp silence that threw their complaints into sharp relief.

At least he didn't have to hang on to anything anymore, Kuroo thought to himself as he let go of the strap and resumed texting with both hands.

Yamamoto had spammed the group chat with reaction images interspersed by random remarks from the rest of the team and a link to “The Final Countdown” by Europe, courtesy of Fukunaga.

 _Train's stuck_ , he typed out, _looks like I'll have to use my thick quadriceps to get there on time._

 _What quadriceps,_ Yaku responded a few seconds later, then almost immediately right after: _DON'T take a picture of your legs, please._

He snorted a little too loudly, attracting the attention of the two girls next to him. He raised his hand in apology before turning back to his phone.

_You sure? ;)_

_Save them for your soulmate._

He swallowed thickly, his mind snapping back to the timer on his wrist. The train wasn't moving and didn't show any signs of budging anytime soon. But it surely would.  
He switched over to his chat with Bokuto, scrolling up to the first message his friend had sent him during the middle of the day, a screenshot of his conversation with Sawamura Daichi inviting him to a soulday party, then the caption _found your soulmate!!!_

After several more messages back and forth he'd managed to throttle the address and name of the soulday girl out of Bokuto, because only Bokuto would forget to include such vital details.

_Tsukishima Hotaru._

Several results popped up as he copy pasted the name into the Facebook search engine. His eyes skimmed over the description of each one, quickly eliminating all the girls that didn't live in the Miyagi prefecture.

Which left two.

The first was married already, her profile picture an image of herself with a man, both blank wrists facing the camera.

The second was a boy.

“What the fuck, Bokuto,” he growled underneath his breath as he clicked on the name. It would be just like him to conveniently forget to mention his soulmate's gender. He'd assumed female from the name, but that apparently wasn't the case. The bouquet of flowers crinkled in his arm as he shifted – the bouquet of flowers he'd bought for a girl. Not there was anything wrong with buying flowers for his male soulmate, he reasoned with himself, nothing wrong with that at all. But still, given the proper information, he would have attempted to find something more gender-appropriate. Especially for a first meeting.

Oh, whatever. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. The flowers were still cute anyway.

Tsukishima's profile picture looked simple and formal, a headshot of himself on what appeared to be a volleyball court. Kuroo's heart picked up its pace a little. If Tsukishima was a volleyball player, it only served to confirm his theory even more.

He'd typed his name in hiragana underneath the kanji. _Tsu-ki-shi-ma Ke-i._ Definitely not Hotaru. He was going to have to kick Bokuto's ass later, teach him a lesson in proper communication skills. Or ask Akaashi to do it for him. Things got through to Bokuto more when Akaashi was the one to deliver the message.

_Studies at Karasuno University._

_Went to Amemaru High School._

_Lives in Sendai, Miyagi._

Yeah, that had to be him, Kuroo decided as he flicked his thumb across the screen. Volleyball player. Glasses. Blondie. And apparently awful at being in pictures. Kuroo covered his mouth to keep from bursting out laughing at the most recent photo Tsukishima had been tagged in, one that must have been taken that night given that he had only four non-zero digits left and was holding a “Happy Soulday” balloon very loosely between his thumb and index finger as if it was causing him physical pain to be in direct contact with it. A look of disdain was creased all over his face in stark contrast to the gleeful expressions on his two friends' faces.

The picture had already been liked by over three dozen people and he had a feeling Tsukishima wouldn't be too happy about that.

The rest of his photos were marginally better. Tsukishima was, in fact, capable of smiling, it seemed, although in most of the photos it was usually rather small, his lips a flat line tilting upwards at the ends, or otherwise more teasing in nature, bordering on sardonic smirk rather than genuine grin. Still, he was... cute. In a begrudging, Grumpy Cat sort of way.

That probably had something to do with the fact that almost all of his photos were taken of him and not by him. The word “selfie” didn't really appear to be in Tsukishima's vocabulary and he didn't seem to be the type to ask others to take pictures of him. The only posts he'd uploaded himself were of the nerdy, educational variety. Videos and articles on the migratory patterns of Masu salmon, seasonal abundance and fluctuation of marine phytoplankton, extinct species of megasharks.

Wait, that last one sounded pretty interesting.

No, no, focus on the boy. They could talk about dinosaur sharks later, once they'd met.

He started scrolling through again, letting the posts blur into one another the deeper he made it into Tsukishima's life. More photos of Tsukishima on volleyball courts and in orange-and-black jerseys gave proof to the fact that he had to be a regular. And apparently a middle blocker, to boot.

Kuroo bounced from foot to foot, impatience threading its way through his entire body the more convinced he became. He paused at a candid photograph a professional must have taken of him in the middle of a tournament. Tsukishima was jumping in front of a spiker, arms held high above the net and face dead-set determined, forehead glistening with sweat from the bright fluorescent lighting. He looked good. Scary, even. But Kuroo couldn't keep his gaze from wandering to the tiny mistakes, the arms spread just a little too wide, a little too far back, palms a little too open. Given enough power, the spiker could rip through his block without a problem.

Kuroo chewed on his lip, heart rate picking back up again. He could help with that.

The next photo made Kuroo glance up at the window as if he could possibly tear it open and start running towards the final station himself.

Tsukishima was smiling.

A genuine, pure, bonafide smile, teeth visible and eyes crinkled behind the lens of his glasses. He was laughing, arms wrapped around his mid-section and face turned just slightly away from the camera, standing next to another guy who looked to be a bit older. They were both wearing Jurassic World 2015 t-shirts, posed in front of a large, inflatable T-Rex, and the other man must have been in the middle of telling some God-like joke because placid, stern Tsukishima looked like was having the time of his life.

 _Seeing T-Rexes in T-shirts #JurassicWorld2k15_ , the caption read, _with Tsukishima Kei and Tsukishima Akiteru_.

 _A brother?_ Kuroo thought to himself as he zoomed in on the picture. _Or a cousin._

At a second glance, Tsukishima Akiteru did look to be related to his cousin-brother, both boys sporting similar facial structures and light-colored hair, although Akiteru's stronger jawline hinted at his maturity. He panned to the right to get a better look at the mystery relative.

Blank wrists. So Tsukishima Kei was at least the second in the family to lose his timer. That always made things easier…

The overhead speaker crackled back to life as the train surged forward suddenly, almost toppling Kuroo over again before he managed to grab onto the hanging strap.

“The train will now be continuing its regular trajectory. We apologize deeply again for the delay and thank you for riding with us today.”

He breathed out a little sigh of relief, releasing a tension in his shoulders he hadn't noticed he'd been harboring. _Almost there_ , he thought to himself, bunching up his sleeve to reveal his wrist, _probably still got about--_

Thirty-four minutes left?

Kuroo glanced around wildly at the people surrounding him, as if looking for some evidence that his wrist had to be wrong. The train couldn't have possibly been stopped for six whole minutes, not if he was supposed to catch the next bus. The two girls next to him were chattering quietly to one another, their voices barely audible above the surrounding din, but their faces creased with concern. One of them was checking her watch, the other her timer.

The steady _chuga-chuga-chug_ of the wheels on the track below matched the pace of his heart as his mind whirred two minutes into the future, when his connecting bus was due to leave, then three minutes, when the train would likely arrive at its station.

There had to be others.

He whipped out his phone again, ignoring every message that his friends had sent him within the last six minutes and going straight for the transportation company's website. He drummed his fingernails against the hanging strap as the loading bar inched its way across the screen, seemingly much slower now that the internet actually mattered.  
The page finally popped up and he slammed his thumb against Bus #11's timetable, scrolling down to view the evening schedule.

Bus #11

19:27

19:57

20:27

“Fuck,” he swore underneath his breath, rubbing a finger against the center of his forehead where a headache was starting to develop. He caught a whiff of roses as he did so, the light, flowery scent wafting in the direction of his nose as the bouquet shuffled about in his grasp. He held it out in front of him, eyes scanning the ten or so flowers he'd bought at the last minute, bright red roses bundled together in a cluster wrapped in plastic foil. The assemblage had been somewhat hastily done, but it had been the best he could do in the few moments he had between work and commuting. The stems rested against his wrist timer, the numbers still ticking down as dutifully as always.  
He'd make it. No matter what happened next.

The train groaned to a stop, doors sliding open and people swarming to get through first.

“Excuse me,” Kuroo grunted, pushing past a businessman. “Coming through.” He squirmed in between a couple standing near the doorway. “Excuse me. Whoops,” he said after slapping a young woman in the face with the bouquet of flowers. “Sorry! So sorry. Got a... deadline. Can't be late.” He skirted around the woman passing out the delay certificates, ducking around one more passenger before feeling the crowd start to thin out.

Another 10 meters and he could finally find his limbs again. Two legs, two arms, a bouquet of roses, and a phone. And less than a minute until 19:57.

He broke off at a run, sprinting down the passage towards the exit, the light at the end of the tunnel filtering in from the street inviting him to pick up the pace. Fresh air that didn't stink of human sweat filled his lungs as he burst out onto the pedestrian deck, rejuvenating him and pushing him forward as he rounded the corner at breakneck speed, nearly slipping on a puddle of unidentifiable liquid.

He ducked to the left, swerving around another group of people and peering down over the railing to the lower floor where red-and-white buses were gathered around, driving up slowly to the row of bus stops and weaving between each other to set out on their routes.

“Yes,” Kuroo huffed at the sight of bus number eleven puttering in place below. He willed his legs to pump faster as he reached the stairs, jumping two and three at a time, left hand gripping the railing tightly so as not to slip and fall.

“Wait! Wait up!”

As if just to spite him, he watched in horror from mid-way down the staircase as the door of the bus snapped shut, engine suddenly revving loudly and headlights shining bright before pulling away from the curb and merging into the street traffic.

He waved his arms around as his feet landed on the ground, lifting the bouquet up high above his head and sprinting after it until it finally disappeared around the corner and into the crowd of vehicles cluttering the busy road.

“Fuck!” he gasped, his voice hoarse and devoid of breath. He doubled over and pressed his hands against his knees, chest and lungs still burning, heartbeat continuing to thud loudly in his ears.

The bus was probably already two, three blocks away... he'd never catch up on foot. He straightened up as his breathing evened out, digging the palm of his hand into his spine, lips rounded out in a perfect O as he sucked in the slightly chilled air.

Liquid doubt settled deep in his gut, trickling down and pooling uncomfortably in the center of his stomach. He turned his wrist around in time to see the numbers flicker to 31 minutes. Regardless of wherever he found himself in half an hour, his soulmate would be there.

He whipped his phone out and scrolled down the contact list until he found Bokuto's number.

“C'mon, c'mon, pick up,” he muttered underneath his breath as he shoved his fists in his pockets, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder, bouquet pressed up underneath his armpit. The Friday night traffic had grown even more congested in the time he'd taken to catch his breath, cars honking at each other loudly to keep moving. He narrowed his eyes as the phone reached its tenth ring, suddenly remembering the blatant disregard Bokuto usually held for his phone, especially during parties. He hoped it hadn't somehow been baked into a bowl of jello this time.

“Yes?” a familiar voice finally drifted in from the other side of the device. The wrong familiar voice.

“Akaashi? Where's Boku-- y'know what, never mind,” he interrupted himself. “Listen, I, uh, the train was late and uh I'm having some issues getting there,” he rambled, pacing around the currently abandoned bus stop, “and, uh, with this traffic it would take too long for someone to come pick me up and take me there. You don't even have a car, either, so that's not a possibility.” Kuroo pressed his forehead against one of the cool metal poles holding up the arched roof of the bus stop.“You're-- you're at the party already, right? Is uh, is the soul-- is Tsukishima there?”

“Yes...”

“Is he-- I gotta make sure cause otherwise I'll just take my time getting there, but have you and Bokuto asked-- is he gay? Or at least attracted to men in some--”

“Hang on,” Akaashi said before the sound grew muffled, only the generic baseline beats of some unknown song making their way through the airwaves.

“He says yes,” Akaashi finally answered.

Kuroo's heart kick-started in his chest. Timers ending on the same night. Volleyball player. Mutual friends. Homosexual. Ding, ding, ding, ding.

“Okay,” he answered, hopping in one place to warm up again. The flowers rustled in his arm and he extracted his hand from his pocket to hold the bouquet more securely. The saturated red contrasted sharply against the encroaching darkness, shadows pooling in between the petals andleaking down the stems. “Okay, I'll make it there. Somehow. You tell him that.”

“Okay, Kuroo...” Akaashi droned.

“See you soon.”

“...Good-bye.”

He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pants pocket.

Alternatives, there had to be alternatives.

The cars in front of him honked as a white cab rocketed past a red light, careening to the right and weaving through traffic at illegal speeds.

A cab. A cab! He could call a taxi. Preferably one with a sane driver, but at this point he was getting pretty desperate.

 _The apartment is four and a half kilometers away_ , Kuroo reasoned as he did an about-face and started marching back up the stairs in the direction of the terminal, _it's gotta be about a nine-hundred, a thousand yen?_ Not too expensive. Not for his soulmate, anyway.

So. Hail a taxi, give the driver the directions, he'd be there in fifteen minutes at the most.He raised an arm to call the nearest cab, his left hand sliding down to grab his wallet out of his back pocket. His empty back pocket.

Kuroo panicked, arms flailing about as he patted every crevice on his body, dipping his fists into both back pockets, then front pockets, his coat, the bouquet, shoes, his search turning up three yen, a coupon, and a shoelace. He was about ready to take his shirt off and turn it inside out when the car pulled over, the automatic backseat door sliding open.

“Hi,” Kuroo coughed as he sank into one of the seats. “Uh... how far can I get with this?” he asked, digging an elbow into the passenger side seat as he leaned forward and held up the coupon between his index and middle fingers. “Two thousand yen to McDonald's. Good deal.”

The driver stared at him with a reproachful look on his face, lips thinned and eyes boring into his soul. “You can get out.”

“Okay, but..” he spluttered, backing out of the vehicle despite his protests, “look my timer’s running down, I can get my friend -- I mean I still owe him money but I can get him to pay for--” The door slammed closed again, obfuscating his view of the driver and shutting him out of the car before it turned and headed in the direction of the street traffic.

“Nnngh,” Kuroo grunted, digging his palms into his eyes in frustration. “This is what I get. This is what I get for wanting to wear a fresh pair of pants.” He slid his hands down his face and let them drop by his sides, too afraid to look at his wrist and find out how much time he'd wasted already.

“Okay, okay, think, Tetsu, think,” he muttered underneath his breath, tapping the sides of his head with his fists and walking around in tiny circles, probably looking like a total madman to everyone passing by. _No money, no taxi. Still got my bus pass, but no bus. Unless…_

“Yeah, gotta work,” he huffed, spinning about and heading back across the pedestrian deck to the series of bus stops. There had to be an alternative bus route that he could still take. He still had time, he could still make it.

He had to shove his way through another small crowd to get to one of the boards posted underneath the deck, keeping the bouquet tucked near his chest to avoid hitting anyone else with it again. The board had each bus route leaving from the northernmost station in Sendai detailed on a timetable, with bus numbers and timetables posted on the side. He traced a finger against one of the routes, glancing down at his phone to make sure it was headed in the direction of the party, then moved to the side to slide his index finger down the list of times.

Bus #30, 20:06.

He paced up and down the block as he waited, caught between the need to check the time and the anxiety that would undoubtedly follow rolling up his sleeve. He was saved from having to do so a minute later as a red-and-white bus with the number thirty lit up in bright yellow lights across the top pulled up by the curb.

A portion of the mob of people crowded onto the vehicle, forming into a single-file line and moving in one-by-one. Kuroo bounced on the ball of his feet, watching impatiently from the middle of the queue as a foreigner struggled with swiping their card against the reader.

To his relief, the line moved a little quicker afterwards and by T-minus 24 minutes he’d secured himself a spot in the center of the bus behind a group of teenagers. He gripped onto the nearest hanging strap again as the bus pulled away from the station.

With an expected time of arrival in twenty minutes, he’d make it with a little time to spare. If he rushed the few blocks between the bus stop and the party, he might even be able to pop into a store to buy something more akin to Tsukishima’s interests.

“Don’t go to Jozenji, that’s a party school,” of the teenage boys in front of him bleated loudly. “Your timer’s gonna run out while you’re in college. You don’t want your soulmate to be some coked-up bimbo. Unless you do,” he finished, elbowing his friend standing to his left in the ribs.

“Shut it man, not every girl at Jozenji's a slut. Besides, they've got a pretty good academic program,” the other boy protested, rubbing at his ribs crossly.

“You should take up that offer from that foreign school. Get a European wife,” his other friend suggested, nodding his head sagely and pushing up his glasses as if to capitalize his point.

“Hey, hey, yeah! One of those French beauties,” the first cackled.

“Do any of you care about the actual rigorous research programs or not?” the second boy sighed.

“The what?” they repeated in tandem.

“Never mind. How long till we get to Minamiyoshinari?”

Minamiyoshinari. Kuroo straightened up, the name ringing all the wrong kinds of bells.

“Hang on. Excuse me,” he said, rising his voice to make himself heard above the din of other conversations. “Where did you say you three were going?”

“Minamiyoshinari. Why?” Soon-to-be-loverboy asked, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“That's heading down south,” Kuroo stated. “This bus is heading northwest.”

“No, it's heading south,” Glasses remarked, eyebrows raised.

“You on the wrong bus, dude?” the first boy laughed.

“Shit,” Kuroo swore, diving for the stop button and punching the knob at full force, bruising his knuckles in the process.

“Please stop,” he gasped, pushing his way past the other passengers and gripping the pole that partitioned the space between the driver and the general public.  
The driver glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before turning back to glare at the street. “End of the next block, son.”

“Okay. Thank you,” he said, voice breathless with desperation. He watched apartment buildings pan across the side of the bus, melding into one another into a gray-and-brown landscape. He drummed his fingers impatiently against the glass panel. How long was this fucking block?

“Your stop,” the driver finally droned, pulling at the gear shift and then sliding open the door.

“Thank you!” he shouted, leaping down the steps two at a time before landing with a thud on the pavement outside. A sudden doubt niggled at his mind and he whipped around before the driver could close the doors again and head off.

“Wait!” The driver regarded him out of the corner of his eye. Kuroo hoped the desperate expression on his face relayed at least the fact that he wasn't messing around. “Where's the bus stop to go in the other direction?”

The driver tilted his head to the right. “Kitty corner,” he stated before slamming the doors and driving away in a cloud of exhaust.

Just like the driver had said, Kuroo could make out the northward bound bus stop on the other side of the street, diagonal from where he was currently standing. He jogged over as quickly as he could, despite there being no sign of any bus coming anytime soon, before sliding to a halt in front of the posted timetable.

20:10. He'd have to wait a couple of minutes for the next one.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, flipping around to sit down heavily onto the bench. He googled Bokuto's friend's address for what felt like the thousandth time that night, tracking the distance between his current location and the party. He wiped a hand across his mouth. The bouquet of flowers nearly toppled over at the movement and he scrambled to grab at them, earning himself a scratched eye from the corner of the plastic wrapping.

“Shit,” he muttered, setting the bouquet aside on the bench and rubbing at his watery eye with his sleeve. He turned to his phone again, uninjured eye skimming to the top.  
Ten minutes or so by bus, then another ten walking.

He removed his hand from his eye and peered at the number on his wrist.

Twenty minutes left.

Anxiety knotted itself even tighter that it already had been, wrenching around in his intestines and tying them together.

“It's fine,” he muttered, thumping his forehead against the side of the bus stop. “It's all fine.” Thump. “If it's not Tsukishima, it'll be someone else.” Thump. “It doesn't matter who it is, it doesn't have to be—”

He was interrupted by the sounds of exhaust pipes and large wheels coming to a stop behind him. He leaped up without a second thought, grabbing the flowers and charging out and around the shelter before zooming up the front entrance of the bus and stopping in front of the bus driver.

“Does this bus...” he gasped, holding his phone up near the driver's face and pointing at the red dot indicating his designated location, “...go here?”

The driver blinked in surprise at his brashness but answered his question nonetheless.

“Yes.”

“You're sure?”

She looked a little more bothered this time, corner of her mouth turning into a frown. “Yes.”

“There's no alternate routes? Express routes? Cut-off roads? Different Friday schedule? No traffic issues tonight? Car crashes? Parades? Strikes? Please,” he begged, holding up his wrist with the quickly dwindling timer on it.

The expression on her face softened at the sight of the numbers.

“Yes,” she repeated. “This is bus number 30 heading towards Sanezawa.”

“Thank you.” Kuroo breathed a sigh of relief as he moved to the back of the bus where the scanners were stationed. He took out his bus pass and waited for the signature beep before taking a look around the vehicle.

The bus was much emptier than the other modes of transportation Kuroo had taken earlier that day and he actually managed to snag a seat in the handicapped section, sitting down for what felt like the first time in hours. His muscles screamed as he sat down and he was reminded he'd really spent the last half hour running around a portion of Sendai like a chicken with a decapitated head.

Really. The things he did for love.

His leg twitched in anticipation as he waited, itching to get back up again and keep running, despite his exhaustion. It would still be another kilometer or so from the bus stop to the party and he'd have to run it in less than ten minutes.

The bus stopped again and he caught stilted movement out of the corner of his eye, ungainly and hunched over. He pressed his hands against the seat and pushed himself back up and gestured to the empty seat.

“Please, sit, m--” The words died in his throat at the sight of the wrinkled old lady entering the bus – the same old lady he was sure he'd left behind on the train half an hour ago.

She nodded gratefully, unaware or unfazed by his reaction, as she ambled towards the vacated seat. Her legs trembled with the weight of her age as she slumped into the chair.

The bus started on its route again and he reached up to grab at a nearby pole, his tall, lanky body towering over the old lady.

They rode in silence for a while, the lady staring off into space with a distant smile carved into her face, while Kuroo did his best not to stare at her. His mind spun in circles, picking up the pieces of his mangled trajectory and attempting to piece them together in a way that could explain how he'd ended up in the same vehicle as the old lady again.

The old woman moved suddenly and he flinched, part of him having been convinced she'd turned to stone or had been nothing but a figment of his imagination. She lifted a shaky arm to point at Kuroo's wrist where his shirtsleeve had slid down. He instinctively grabbed at it, covering the numbers with his other hand, fearing for a moment his timer had gone down to zero somehow while he hadn't been paying attention.

She smiled and waved a hand in front of her face as if to say _not to worry, it's not a big deal, everything will work out._

He smirked and huffed out a little breath in polite disbelief.

“Hey, I think this is your stop,” a voice interrupted their silent exchange. He glanced up at the bus driver who had her hand on the lever, looking at him expectantly.

“Ah! Thank you,” he said gratefully, giving a silent nod to the old lady before swiping his card and leaping out of the vehicle.

He broke off at a run again, feet pounding against the pavement, a race against time in every literal sense. Trees and cars blurred into a formless mass as he rushed along the sidewalk, sticking close to the far-right side and letting his right arm skim against the brick wall, keeping his mind focused his destination. His thoughts flitted briefly on the grateful fact that he’d been enforcing more lap drills during volleyball practice lately.

A gas station approached on the right and he cut through, breaking away from the pedestrian sidewalk and into the driveway. He slammed his hand on the hood of a waiting car and leaped over it, ignoring the shouting from somewhere behind him as his shoes met up with the sidewalk again and he turned right, keeping along for a couple of meters before finally stopping.

One more block. The house was at the end of the block separated by a large street with two-way traffic. He turned his head from one side to the other, glancing at what felt like never-ending line of cars.

He turned his wrist around, then almost wished he hadn’t.

00:00:00:00:01:25

He tried to look past the cars down the street, searching for a particular tall, blond boy who’d possibly run out of patience waiting for him to show up and had run to try and find him, but couldn’t see anything, just a dark neighborhood with houses and apartment buildings visible in the distance.

“Come on, don’t make me walk into traffic,” he muttered at the stop light. It remained staunchly red.

He started hopping in place, rolling up both sleeves and staring down at his timer, which had burned up another twenty seconds since he’d last checked.

 _Five more seconds_ , he told himself, staring down at the horizon in the direction he was supposed to be heading, _and I run._

Five.

A truck blasted its horn as it sped past him, turning its blinker on to signal to the car in front to hurry up.

Four.

A crow perched on the traffic light that refused to change, its feathers glowing a deep shade of amber.

Three.

The car he’d hopped over, done with charging gas, merged into the traffic.

Two.

A dog barked at him out of the window of a passing car.

One.

A brisk wind picked up, tugging at his clothes and combing through his hair. The smell of rose wafted from the bouquet held close against his chest.

Zero. He allowed himself one last glance at his timer before straightening his back and staring down at the end of the block.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, hand tightening around the bouquet of flowers, “I can’t die yet.”

With another peripheral glance at the oncoming traffic, he shoved his fear into the pit of his stomach and raised his left arm, muscles tensing as he prepared to jump in at the first sizeable gap.

The incoming Subaru screeched to a stop as he tossed himself into the street, blaring its horn at him as he dove ahead, arm outstretched to show his timer to the oncoming drivers. Cars halted mere centimeters from his body, the smell of exhaust and sound of people yelling blending into the background as he drove himself forward.

He twisted his arm to face the left as he made it to the second half of the street, cars coming in from the left side now.

He was about three steps away from safety when a heavy wall slammed into his left side and then there was nothing but an expanse of black dotted by little pinpricks of light. It took him another second to recognize the dots of light as the first stars and the almost comforting solidity pressed against his back as the ground.

Yelling and the blaring of horns infiltrated his senses next, providing him with two undeniable facts. The first that _yes, he must have just been hit by a car_ and the second that _no, he wasn't at the party yet._

A face slid into his vision, blotting out the starlight shining down from far above.

“Is he dead?”

A child.

“Riku, hush.” Another voice, then a second face popping up next to the first. “Do you need a hospital?”

A shock of adrenaline surged through him again and he attempted to lift himself up onto his elbows. The world spun around at the movement, rocking back and forth like the ground beneath him was about to slip away. He shut his eyes tight, clenched his teeth, dug his nails into the cement.

“Brother, help him up,” the woman's voice again, laced with concern. Hands, tucked under his armpits, hoisting him up, pulling him away from the unstable ground. A small group had gathered around him, shadowy figures, worried voices, reaching hands. Someone grabbed his wrist, flipped it around. Ten seconds left.

“It's almost up!”

“Someone call an ambulance.”

“No, that's not-- not necessary,” Kuroo croaked, finally finding his voice as color starting rushing back in. “No ambulance, I just need--” He twisted around, strange faces and bodies surrounding him. His soulmate? Here? In this crowd? Everybody had dark hair, shades of black and brown, no blond. His hands clenched around empty air.

“My bouquet. Where's--?” He shook off the hands that had still been holding him up. “The flowers, I need to--” He shoved aside a man. If he could push his way through the crowd, he didn't need a hospital.

“Excuse me.”

The people parted to let him through, wary eyes still digging into his back, shoulders and heads moving to the side. Light burst in from above. Streetlight, the crowd had been blocking.

He blinked and lifted his hand away from his face, eyes adjusting to the brighter outside.

The bouquet. A figure was standing at the edge of the sidewalk, silhouetted by the streetlights and the twinkle of the rising constellations poking from behind the black veil of space far above. He held the bundle of flowers in his shaky hands. Kuroo could barely make out the dude's face, his chin tucked down against his chest, hood of his sweatshirt draped over his hair and covering all the way down to his eyes.

No. He grabbed his wrist and pulled it up to his face. Rolled the sleeve of his shirt down to his elbow, eyes raking up and down the entirety of his forearm. Nothing but white skin.

Clapping. First from one pair of hands, a rhythmic slapping that evolved into a chorus of polite applause, the crowd behind him picking up on the cue one by one.

He stepped forward, legs heavy now that it was over, the frantic rushing, constant tension. Over.

Kuroo shuffled closer to the young man, almost afraid that if he walked any faster he'd spook him back to whatever dimension he'd popped up from.

The young man – his _soulmate_ , Kuroo corrected – radiated discomfort, shoulders hunched, clenched fists choking the stems of the bouquet, face turned away from him, although his eyes would flit over at him then at the gathering of people every few seconds or so.

“Yo,” he coughed out as soon as he was within comfortable hearing distance, “you just lose your timer, too?” Dumb question, but his brain was moving just a little too slow to be at his usual height of smoothness.

The young man's eyes flickered up to him then to the smattering of people, then back down to the bouquet, hood still covering most of his face.

“Yeah...” he said, so softly Kuroo almost thought it had been the wind playing tricks on him.

“Those were for you,” he said, gesturing towards the bouquet of flowers gathered near the boy's chest. His eyes widened in surprise, or recognition, Kuroo wasn't sure, but he said nothing, only held them even closer. The foil wrapped around the hastily-bought flowers crinkled as he did so.

“I'll, uh...” Kuroo started, staring down at the bouquet. Most of the flowers were broken, a good potion of the stems chopped into pieces, petals coating the sides and bottom of the foil rather than the flower heads themselves. “I'll buy you a new one tomorrow.”

“Are you okay? Do you need us to take you to a hospital?” One of the men – the one who had helped him up, the pieces of the moments following the hit were starting to come together – had approached the two of them, his head turning to face one soulmate then the other, before coming to rest on Kuroo again.

“No, I'm fine,” he reassured the man, waving a hand in front of his face. “It was just the shock.”

The man glanced between them again before taking Kuroo's word for it.

“Congratulations,” he stated, bowing quickly and moving back towards his parked car.

The throng of people had begun to dissipate now that it was clear he was okay and they'd gotten their fill of first-soulmate-meeting drama. Car doors slammed and engines revved and in almost no time at all, traffic had resumed to its normal state before a certain crazed maniac had decided to throw himself into fate's arms.

He turned back to the young man standing next to him. The man's stance had changed, feet facing Kuroo's direction and flowers pinned in the space between their torsos. He tilted his head as he sized Kuroo up before lifting an arm and pointing a finger at him.

“You're bleeding.”

“Wh--” he twisted around to see a slowly-growing patch of red soaking into his sleeve. “Ah, crap.” He rolled the sleeve up to his shoulder to reveal an angry-looking gash on his upper arm.

“It's fine, just a scratch.” He thrust his chin in the direction of the road. “Got hit by a car, y'know. No biggie.”

“No biggie...” the young man drawled, voice dripping with doubt.

“My friend's a sports doctor. I can get him to check up on me,” he assured, turning to the side so that the injury was out of sight and covering it with his opposite hand, concern for the gash bubbling at the back of his mind but not wanting to make a fuss about it. “I don't think I caught your name, by the way. Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Kenma.”

“Kenma, hu--” The world spun once more as he bowed his head, floor and sky melding to become one then snapping back into their proper places. Strong arms had grasped his waist, propping him up on a warm shoulder, the sound of foil crinkling and something hard and thin stabbing at his lower back.

“Maybe... you should have said yes to the hospital,” Kenma murmured in his ear.

“Hmmmm,” he hummed, pressing his palms onto Kenma's shoulders and pushing himself up. The foil crinkled again and the stems digging into his back disappeared, then reappeared at Kenma's side as he let go of Kuroo's waist. His right hand continued to hold onto his elbow tightly, even as Kuroo lifted his head back into an upright position.

His eyes were on Kenma's level now. He suppressed a shiver at the sight of Kenma's narrow pupils searing into his skin like lasers, eyes flashing with something unreadable. With Kenma's docile posture and meek demeanor, he'd expected more submissive behavior from him, not the feeling of being scrutinized by a predator.

“Yeah-- I-- I'll have Akaashi check on me. We'll see what he says.” He twisted his mouth in his usual shit-eating grin.

“You up for a party?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so did anyone catch [this mcdonald's commercial reference](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FyzYI3TV8IQ)
> 
> I'm 3k into the next chapter. Hopefully will update again soon


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello i'm back
> 
> Credit to @spacialstars for the awesome beta work again.
> 
> enjoy~

The wind whipped across his cheek as he accelerated, foot pumping gently against the gas pedal while keeping his peripheral vision trained on the cars around him. He flicked his blinker on and veered to the right as he cut into the next lane. The wind picked up again and nudged his overgrown bangs up against his eyes. He groaned and tried to flick his head to move the bangs but to no avail. Great.

He waited until he'd slowed down to a stop at an intersection, taking the brief moment before the stoplight turned green again to adjust his bangs and tuck them underneath his helmet before clicking the visor down lower to better cover his eyes.

The light still hadn't changed. Traffic could really get nightmare-ish around this time of the week, he thought, wrapping a hand around his left wrist and lifting his glove to unveil the numbers underneath.

00:00:00:00:50:11

“Ooh,” Tadashi whimpered. The last time he'd checked he'd still had a 1 in the hours digit. He gripped the handlebars tightly again, rubbing a thumb against the course surface.

The stoplight finally turned green and he revved the engine back to life before the cars behind him could get a chance to honk their horns at him.

His timer had displayed a number somewhere around 00:00:00:01:05:00 when he'd left the pizzeria and given that the apartment he was delivering to was supposed to be twenty minutes away, he still had about five minutes to get there. He turned to the left and could swear he could feel the pizza boxes thumping against the side of the crate melded to the back of the scooter. Even after working as a pizza boy for the past year without any incidents, he still felt anxious that the delivery box would somehow dislodge itself and go flying into the windshield of the nearest unfortunate car.

 _Calm down_ , he thought to himself as he pulled to a stop in front of nice-looking apartment building. _You're just anxious because your timer's running out tonight._

“Oh, God,” he groaned, clutching the pizza boxes to his chest as he removed them from the delivery crate. They were still warm and smelled of grease and cheese. He probably smelled like grease and cheese. A greasy and cheesy soulmate.

“5D,” he muttered as he trotted up to the front door of the building and searched for the apartment number on the door phone. “5D, 5D, 5-- ah.”

He jabbed his thumb against the button and waited, nail scratching against the corner of one of the cardboard boxes.

“Hello,” a woman's voice sounded from the other end of the phone.

“Delivery,” he stated automatically, accustomed now to announcing his presence with the single word. It had gotten to the point where he’d answered his own cellphone with “delivery!” once and the embarrassment still haunted him sometimes.

“My husband will be down in a second,” she stated, a crackle of the phone letting him know she'd left the buzzer.

He huffed out a breath and removed his helmet while he waited, staring at the wooden door in front of him.

He heard the far-off screech of children as if echoing through a long passageway before their little voices grew louder and more discernible and the door swung open, revealing a haggard-looking middle-aged man and two toddlers grasping at his pants legs, squealing “pizza, pizza!” at the top of their lungs.

“Sorry for the wait,” the man sighed, grabbing the back of his daughter's shirt as she tried to break ahead, tiny hands reaching out for the pizza boxes in Tadashi's arms. “How much is it?”

“Two thousand,” he replied, holding out the boxes in exchange for the money the man extracted out of his back pocket.

“Thank you! Have a nice evening!” he shouted before the door slammed shut, muffling the sound of cheering children.

 

\--

 

“Tadashi, you're back.”

Tadashi pulled the helmet off of his head and shook his hair out, running a hand through it to try and get rid of the helmet hair before turning to his boss.

“Yeah. Sorry I took a while, the traffic picked up on my way back...”

“No, no, don't worry about it. Listen,” Mr. Shimada said, dropping a large stack of pizza boxes on the counter. “How much time have you got left?”

Tadashi peeled his glove off and bit his lip at the sight of the numbers underneath.

“Does that say thirty minutes?” Mr. Shimada asked, leaning over the counter to get a better look. Tadashi turned his wrist around so he could see the numbers more clearly.

“This'll be it, then,” Mr. Shimada stated, nodding at the pizza boxes lying on the counter. “GPS sets your expected time of arrival at 25 minutes from now,” he grinned at Tadashi, “and the order sounded like it was coming from some kind of party. Congratulations.”

Tadashi blinked in disbelief, staring at the pizza boxes in front of him. There were six of them in their largest size stacked one atop the other, the company's logo of a chopped-up pig staring at him mockingly from the top box.

“You-- you're sure, sir?” He'd known this was coming, but coming face-to-face with the last delivery of the night before his timer ran out felt too daunting to be real.

“Pretty sure,” he said, turning to the fry machine and scooping out two bagfuls. “I'll add some fries for free for you and your soulmate.” He set the two bags on top of the pizza boxes and beamed proudly at the large stack of food before suddenly exclaiming “oh! I almost forgot,” and reaching for something underneath the counter.

“This is for you.”

He held out a small, rectangular gift-wrapped box with both hands. It looked to be about ten by five centimeters in length and had been meticulously wrapped in a polka-dot wrapping that felt oddly reminiscent of pepperoni.

“I can't accept that,” he said, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Please. You've been one of my hardest workers for these past few years and I'm proud to be the one to send you off to your soulmate. Take the gift,” he insisted.

“No, no, no, it's fine,” Tadashi refused, reaching out for the pizza boxes instead, “I'll just take the boxes and be on my way--”

“And you'll be taking this, too,” Mr. Shimada stated resolutely, shoving the gift into his hands. “It's nothing big. Very traditional. I'm a bit of a traditional man, I'm afraid.”

Tadashi breathed at the sight of the small box in his palms, the pressure from his boss's kindness weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Really--” he tried one more time.

“Open it.” Mr. Shimada had crossed his arms in front of his chest, leaving no room for Tadashi to hand it back off to him.

He paused for a moment before finally acquiescing and tucking a finger into the corner of the wrapping. The wrapping fell away easily, revealing a brown wooden box. He undid the clasp with one hand while holding the box with the other, gripping the top half and pulling open the lid to reveal an elegant silver watch.

“See? Traditional.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Tadashi stuttered, bowing to his boss before gazing down at the watch again. The face was silver in color, the straps wrapped around the cushion it was set on deep black. The second hand ticked steadily, moving around the face of the watch bit by bit. “It's beautiful.”

“It's really nothing. You're going to need something to help you keep track of time with your timer gone,” he pointed at the watch wrapped around his own blank wrist, “and everyone always gets a watch on their soulday.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, unsure of what else to say. His parents were most likely planning on giving him a watch later, but he didn’t dare reveal that fact. Shimada’s watch was, without a doubt, more expensive than anything his family could probably afford to give him anyway. He gently closed the box shut again, rubbing a thumb over the polished wood.

“You're welcome,” Mr. Shimada chuckled. He tipped his head in the direction of the pizza boxes. “Okay, you're good to go. Think you can handle the load?”

“Yes, of course,” Tadashi nodded, tucking the gift into his pocket and reaching out for the pizza boxes. “I've taken larger orders before.”

“I know you have,” his boss hummed, adjusting his glasses as he watched Tadashi lift the boxes and start heading for the exit. “Feel free to take the rest of the night off, by the way,” he shouted out after Tadashi, “spend it with your soulmate.”

“Thank you!” he chirped once more before pressing his back against the door and letting himself back out into the night air. He skipped over to his scooter, unlocked the delivery box, and slid the pizzas inside, adjusting them to ensure there was enough space for the entire order. He popped a fry into his mouth, savoring the salt on his tongue before rolling up the bags and tucking them in the space between the boxes and the inner wall of the crate, then locked the delivery box up again.

“All right,” he murmured to himself as he clipped his helmet strap into place underneath his chin. “Time to go.”

 

\--

 

The apartment building he'd been given directions to looked like a medium-sized house split in half. The left side was dark and somber and the right was lively and brightly lit. Light streamed from the single window facing the street. Shadows moved behind the window, blocking the light for short periods of time before letting it shine through again.

It was loud, too, the sounds of drunk party-goers yelling and laughing reaching his ears before he'd turned off the motor. He shrugged off his helmet and ran a hand through his hair again, trying his best to puff it up and not look like he'd been wearing protective headgear for the past three hours. He crouched down to look at himself in the rear view mirror and cringed. His cowlick had popped up like usual – not even a ton of gel could keep that down – but the rest of his hair still refused to revive itself, falling down the sides of his face in stringy tendrils.

Unacceptable. He squirmed as he looked at his reflection, suddenly wishing he'd had time to take a shower or at least wash his hair before showing up. He was sure if he'd asked Mr. Shimada for some time off to get ready, he’d have granted it. But then, he would have still run into his soulmate somewhere before getting home, or he would have been born with a longer timer, since he would have missed being assigned to deliver to the party.

He rummaged around in his bag for his cap and plopped it on his head, adjusting it slightly from one side then the other as he checked himself in the mirror. The cap was part of the standard uniform for the restaurant but he usually didn't have to wear it because of the helmet. He bent down a little to get a better look at himself, finger tracing the edges of the grotesque pig that had been sewn into the front. Too much? Or maybe his soulmate would think it normal. Or too nerdy. He lifted the lip then slammed it back down again, moaning and rubbing his face with his hands.

“Fuck it,” he groaned, swinging his leg off of his scooter and coming to a stand next to his vehicle. With a final glance at the mirror, he marched around to the back of the scooter and unlocked the crate, sliding the boxes of pizza out and then grabbing the two bags of fries and stacking them on top.

“Here we go,” he sighed to himself before setting down the sidewalk path leading to the front door. The sounds of party-making grew louder and engulfed his senses as he approached the door. His heart quickened at the thought of one of those voices potentially belonging to his soulmate.

He set aside the boxes and the fries on a nearby ledge to give himself a moment to pry the gloves off his hands, both stalling for time and itching to check how long he had left.

Two minutes.

He shook himself and combed his hands through his hair again, letting out a nervous groan. Two minutes, two minutes.

“Deep breaths.” _Inhale. Exhale, Tadashi._

He picked up the pizza boxes again and reached out for the doorbell, tracing the pad of his index finger around the circular button and entertaining the fantasy of attempting to escape his timer. He shook his head to remove the ludicrous notion; even if he tried to so, he’d only turn around to find his soulmate standing behind him and the thought of felt even more terrifying than ringing a doorbell. With a deep breath, he bit the bullet.

The doorbell vibrated in the tip of his finger before reverberating throughout the rest of the apartment and piercing the jovial atmosphere on the other side of the wall. The party fell into a hush almost immediately. Despite the semi-drawn blinds, Tadashi could swear he could feel a hundred pairs of eyes boring through his skin and into his soul.

Voices started up again after a few moments, though much quieter now and laced with anticipation. He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he waited, trying not to imagine his soulmate in the cluster of partygoers, their face lit up with excitement or creased with anxiety like his.

He blinked back to reality at the sound of a distinct click somewhere behind the door, then the sound of footsteps, which would have been indistinguishable had it not been for the hush that had fallen over the apartment the moment he'd rang the doorbell.

He sniffed. His breath had started coming in shorter huffs and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on keeping his breathing steady.

What should he say?

A joke. Some kind of joke? Or something smooth. Sexy, so his soulmate would be reassured that they had been assigned someone cool.

Or he could be himself.

The front door creaked as it swung open and Tadashi panicked.

“Hi,” he stammered, giggling nervously like an idiot. He afforded himself a moment to appreciate the person on the other end of the threshold. He (a boy, his soulmate was a boy. One question answered already) was tall, taller that himself by several centimeters, and lanky to go with it. He was blond (natural blond? Or did he dye it? With each question answered, another three arose) and wore glasses, a pair of simple black-rimmed ones perched on an attractive face. He looked vulnerable, like he wanted to be anywhere but at the door.

Unfortunately for his soulmate, Tadashi decided to open his mouth again. “Uh-- s-somebody ordered pizza?” he joked.

The vulnerable expression disappeared instantly, replaced by a stony indifference, his soulmate's sharp eyes raking from his own face down to the pizza boxes in his arms then to the rest of his body.

“Yes,” his soulmate answered simply. Tadashi shivered at the sound of his voice, a low bored-sounding drone. It wasn't particularly special or sexy, but a lifetime of lying in his bed at night staring at his wrist and letting his imagination run wild, making up false scenarios and hypothetical soulmates made the real thing standing before him almost too overwhelming.

“Cool. Um-- uh-- so, what's your name?” he stuttered. Very smooth.

“Tsukishima Kei,” he drawled, then pointed at the boxes in Tadashi's arms. “Do you need help with that?”

“Huh--? Uh, sure, I guess-- you can--” Tadashi's heart nearly stopped, fluttering anxiously in his chest as Tsukishima leaned forward to grab the first couple of pizza boxes on the stack. Tsukishima's face loomed close to his and Tadashi's gaze bounced between trying to keep eye contact with him and dropping down to look at the pizza boxes cradled in his arms. Tsukishima's knuckles brushed against his forearms as he grasped the boxes and pulled them away from the top, lightening Tadashi's load.

“What about you?”

Tadashi blinked, confused and panic rising in his chest again. Had he missed a part of their conversation? “Me?” he clenched the boxes a little closer to his chest. “Yeah, I-- I like pizza, too.”

“No, your name.” Tsukishima rolled his eyes.

“Oh--” he giggled nervously, dropping his head and hunching his shoulders, hands too busy carrying the pizza boxes to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he managed to spit out without stuttering.

Another beat of awkward silence, then: “Nice to meet you... Yamaguchi.”

“Nice-- nice to meet you, too.” Tsukishima's eyes were like a drill, boring into his face and extracting parts of his soul, bringing them into the light to dissect and analyze thoroughly. He gulped, trying to temper down his thoughts. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out Tsukishima could read minds.

“Come in,” Tsukishima said, turning around and heading back down the long passageway that led into the rest of the apartment.

Tadashi quickly reached for the fries still perched on the ledge before toeing off his shoes and padding after his soulmate.

“Thank you. Sorry for the intrusion,” he said to Tsukishima's back.

“No need for that. I don't live here.”

Tadashi made a noise of curiosity.

“It's my captain's and vice captain's place. The volleyball club at my university decided to host this get-together.”

“That's nice of them,” Tadashi chirped. “You play volleyball?”

Tsukishima grunted, but offered no other words of conversation.

He froze in front of the door at the end of the hallway, catching Tadashi by surprise. The corners of the pizza boxes he was still carrying dug into the small of Tsukishima's back and he stumbled backwards, muttering a hasty apology.

“Get ready,” Tsukishima mumbled cryptically before reaching for the doorknob and shouldering the door open.

Loud noise exploded from the main room of the apartment, followed by confetti and streamers which flew in Tsukishima's direction and snaked their way around his shoulders and into his hair. A piece of silly string had splattered on the corner of his glasses and his shoulders clenched, clearly discontent with the assault of brightly-colored paper products and aerosol string.

As he had mostly been standing behind Tsukishima, very little of the confetti had landed on his body, only a few pieces in his hair and some that had managed to plaster itself to the collar of his shirt, but nothing could stop the screaming and chanting that followed right after.

“SOULMATE! SOULMATE! SOULMATE!”

People rushed in from all angles, jumping onto Tsukishima’s back and tugging at his limbs and head, one particularly rowdy friend aiming a heavy punch at his solar plexus.

People gathered around Tadashi as well, though they were much more easy-going and better behaved, smiling politely and bowing and asking him questions all at once, their voices overlapping over one another in an overwhelming whirlwind of words.

He was about to answer one of the questions he'd been able to make out, a _“what's your name?”_ , when one of Tsukishima's friends bounded off of his back and veered over to Tadashi, skidding to a stop just before crashing into him.

“Yoooo, Tsukishima's soulmate brought _pizza_!” the boy exclaimed.

“Can't believe your soulmate was the pizza boy,” the boy who'd gutted Tsukishima jeered.

The first boy who'd run up to him grabbed at the boxes as he responded: “Isn't that, like, half of how gay porns start?”

“Nishinoya!” a voice bellowed from somewhere deep in the crowd of people.

“Whoops,” the boy holding the pizza boxes said, posture alert but eyes glinting with mischief rather than fear. He turned to the other boy and shouted: “Ryuu, I've got the pizzas! Let's run!”

They bounded off towards the back of the apartment, rushing into what looked like a kitchen, both cackling all the way.

Tsukishima shuffled closer to Tadashi as another man emerged from the throng of people, elbowing his way around a couple of the partygoers who had come to gawk at Tadashi. He was taller than the boy who'd just scattered – Nishinoya – but still of about average height, attractive, but in a regular kind of way. Tadashi shook his head. It still all felt a bit strange, but he'd finally found his soulmate. He shouldn't really be looking at anyone but Tsukishima from now on.

“I apologize for... them,” the man said. His voice was the same baritone that had exploded at the Nishinoya seconds earlier, Tadashi realized. “They're a couple of wild cards, but they mean well.” He smiled and bowed. “Sawamura Daichi. I'm the captain of the volleyball team at Karasuno University.”

“Oh! It's a pleasure to meet you,” Tadashi responded in kind, bowing and fiddling with the bags of fries in his hand. “Thank you for hosting this party for Tsukishima and me.”

“It was nothing,” Sawamura said. “Just an excuse for us to go wild for once.”

He chuckled nervously and looked to Tsukishima as he struggled to find some other topic of conversation, hoping his soulmate would bail him out, but he said nothing, simply adjusted his glasses while staring down the end of his nose at them. A third man marched up to their little group a couple of seconds later, pressing a hand to the shoulder of one of the guests who was staring intently at him and pushing him gently aside.

“It looks like our guest of honor has finally arrived.” The man was also of about average height, with light brown hair that looked gray in the light. His face was creased with a warm and welcoming smile that assuaged Tadashi’s anxieties a little. He came to a stop next to Sawamura, elbows brushing. He gestured to everyone else in the vicinity and crossed his arms. “Honestly, everyone, let's give them some space! We have all night for introductions. Let them get comfortable with each other first.”

The crowd dispersed a little, people wandering around to sit down on the various chairs or heading off to a long table in the back of the room, though he could still feel their gazes on his skin. The boy the man had pushed aside blinked after a few seconds like he’d fallen asleep standing with his eyes open and glanced around the room before heading to an empty beanbag chair near the TV.

“Nice to finally meet you,” the man addressed Tadashi. “I'm Sugawara Koushi. I live here with Daichi.”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi.” He bowed again. “It's nice to meet all of you, too.” Despite his icy demeanor, Tsukishima looked like he had a lot of friends. That was nice, but they were both probably in for a tiring night.

“Hey, Tsukishima, how are you holding up?” Sugawara asked his soulmate. His _soulmate._ He was still trying to get used to the idea that this was it, this was what his timer had been leading to.

“I think Tanaka-san broke one of my ribs,” Tsukishima answered crossly.

“That's the spirit,” Sugawara chuckled. “Here, let me take those off you.” He reached for the two pizza boxes Tsukishima was still holding.

“And I'll take care of the payment,” Sawamura piped up. He reached into his pocket as he spoke, digging out a couple of neatly folded bills.

“Oh, no, it's fine, I'm pretty sure it's on the house…” Tadashi stammered. He'd been left off the hook for the rest of the night and Mr. Shimada wasn't one to ask for the money the day after, especially considering the current circumstances.

“Don't be so polite, you brought us food,” Sawamura insisted as he pressed the money into Tadashi’s palm. “Take a seat. Everyone here is still eager to make your acquaintance and I'm sure it'll be easier on you both if you sit down.”

“Ah-- yeah, that's a good--" He looked at Tsukishima.

Tsukishima kept quiet but tipped his head in the direction of the couch, heading off without checking to see if Tadashi was following behind.

He groaned a little when he sat down, some of the stress that had been accumulated throughout the night's anticipation melting away into the sofa cushions. Tsukishima glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and Tadashi smiled nervously, adding a little chuckle to try and break the tension.

“Hi!” A redhead chirped to his right.

“Hi,” Tadashi lifted a hand in response.

“You look a lot nicer than Tsukishima.”

“Thanks?”

“And you look a lot dumber but we’re not comparing here.”

The redhead stuck his tongue out at Tsukishima, apparently unruffled by his coarse comment. Was this the kind of relationship Tsukishima had with his friends?

“I'm Hinata Shouyou,” the redhead said, grinning widely. “I'm on the volleyball team with Tsukishima. And that's Kageyama,” he added, jerking his thumb in the direction of the boy who'd been staring at him earlier. “He's probably not gonna talk to you much tonight, though. He's drunk. That’s good, though, he can be kinda annoying.”

“Said the pot to the kettle,” Tsukishima interrupted.

“Do you wanna fight?” Hinata growled, leg tossed over the armrest and body poised as if he were about ready to crawl over Tadashi and throw himself at Tsukishima.

“Hey, dumbass! Did you just call me annoying?” Kageyama barked from his beanbag chair.

“No, I said you were a… loyal… thing,” Hinata recovered poorly, face creased in concentration.

A beat, then: “I know what you said. I'm drunk, not deaf.”

“Alright, boys,” Sugawara’s voice broke into their conversation again as he weaved through scattered chairs to slide up to the couch where they were sitting, a plate of what looked to be strawberry shortcake in each hand. Sawamura followed closely behind with a bottle of sake and a handful of sake cups. Tsukishima sat up a little straighter, his expression lighting up at the sight of the cake, eyes widening and the corner of his mouth tilting away from the semi-pout he'd been sporting since Tadashi had shown up.

“Happy soulday,” Sugawara continued, handing off a plate of the cake to each of them.

“Thank you,” Tadashi mumbled gratefully as he took the plate from Suga’s hand, awkwardly flubbing around with the bags of fries in his hand before setting them aside on a nearby low table.

“We can eat those, after, if you want some…” he added to Tsukishima hastily.

Tsukishima blinked at him. “No, thanks.”

“Ah, r-right, salty stuff doesn’t really mix with um- never mind,” he stuttered, rubbing a hand to the back of his neck. His face felt hot and he tried not to think about how flustered he looked. His heart tightened. Stupid. Interacting with his soulmate was turning out more difficult than he’d hoped.

Sawamura had finished filling up the sake cups and passed one off to Tadashi and Tsukishima in turn before turning to Sugawara with his own in hand.

“Thank you, Daichi.” Sugawara turned back to the two of them, cup held high. “Last thing and I promise I'll leave you two alone for the night. To a bright future together. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” the rest of them echoed, clinking their cups against each other’s. Tadashi blushed and chuckled nervously as he turned to clink his cup against Tsukishima’s. Tsukishima’s face was as unreadable as ever.

The sake ran smoothly down his throat as he gulped it down, warming his chest and spreading through his veins. He pulled the glass away from his lips and smiled at Tsukishima again, still unsure of how he was supposed to behave around his soulmate. Tsukishima didn’t react, simply stared through him before looking down at his glass and tracing the tip of his finger around the rim pensively.

“Hey, those look good,” Hinata shouted, pointing at the plate of cake in Tadashi’s lap. “Any for the rest of us?”

“In the kitchen,” Sugawara said, flicking a finger against Hinata’s forehead and turning to head back to the center of the room. “Congratulations,” he said once more, beaming at Tadashi and Tsukishima in turn, before clasping Sawamura around the wrist and pulling him along. Sawamura nodded another congratulations to them as well before following.

Hinata stood and stretched. “I’m gonna get my own piece of that cake. Kageyama, you want any?” he offered as he shot in the direction of the kitchen. He disappeared around the corner into the adjacent room in a blur of red.

“So…” Tadashi started, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

“Sure!” Kageyama interrupted.

Tadashi blinked before turning back to Tsukishima.

“Alcohol makes him stupider than usual,” Tsukishima clarified. “Apparently.”

He giggled nervously. “Well, I guess that’s a good kind of drunk. Better than an angry drunk or a loud drunk.”

Tsukishima looked off into the distance like he was considering what Tadashi had just said. He shook his head before muttering, “that’s him when he’s sober.”

He glanced at Kageyama who seemed to have receded back into himself, eyes glazed over and staring at a fixed point on the wall with a scowl carved into his face. Perhaps better to just drop the topic.

“So…” he tried again, digging his spoon into the tip of the cheesecake and bringing it up to his mouth. It tasted good. “What’s um… what’s your um…” He really should have had a question prepared before opening his mouth. “What do you like?”

“Like…?” Tsukishima raised an eyebrow.

“I mean--” he puffed out a breath. _Damn it, calm down,_ he thought to himself, _he's your_ soulmate, _you were meant to be together. It'll be fine._

“I mean, what do you like to, ah, do? You mentioned-- you mentioned-- you play volleyball?” he shoved another spoonful of the cake into his mouth. Maybe that would shut himself up.

“Yeah,” Tsukishima grunted.

“That's cool. I-- uh, I always wanted to play a sport but I was always too intimidated to join any of the clubs.” He twirled the spoon around between his index finger and his thumb.

“My brother got me into it.” Tsukishima glanced down at his blank wrist and frowned.

“You have a brother?”

“Excuse me! Hello! Sorry,” a voice interrupted and Tadashi looked up to see two girls standing a couple of feet away. The one who'd spoken looked to be about his age, hair tied back into a long ponytail. The other had stuffed her face with pizza and still held two more slices in each hand.

“Hi! We just wanted to stop by and say congratulations,” the girl continued, looking from Tadashi to Tsukishima then to Tadashi again. “What's your name?”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he said for the third time that night. He had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. “Nice to meet you.”

“You two excited? It's exciting, isn't it? Finally meeting your soulmate?” she gushed. The other girl continued to chew on her pizza.

“Yeah,” Tadashi chuckled, turning to Tsukishima who had yet to say a word but was regarding them with a look of testy boredom. “It's really weird, actually.” He leaned closer to his soulmate as he spoke, not quite touching, but closing the gap between them. That was something that soulmates did, surely. Tsukishima kept quiet and didn't move.

“I can't wait for my day,” she continued before addressing her friend. “Right, Shirofuku?”

The second girl swallowed the last bit of pizza she'd been munching on.

“Yeah, this is cool. I've never been to a gay soulday party before.”

“Shirofuku!” the first girl hissed. “You can't say that!”

“Why? It's the truth.” She brought another slice of pizza up to her mouth.

“Sorry about that. She's drunk,” the girl with the ponytail said, tugging on her friend's arm.

“What? No I'm not,” Shirofuku said as her friend started dragging her away. “Thanks for the pizza, by the way. Good shit.”

“Ah-- you're welcome!” he shouted after her. He looked at Tsukishima, who was gradually looking more and more discontent as the night went along, the corners of his lips tipped downwards in a frown. “Do you know them?”

“No.”

“Tsukishima.” A finger poked at the top of Tsukishima's head. “You gonna introduce us to your soulmate?”

Tadashi looked up to see three men standing behind the couch. The one who'd prodded at Tsukishima leaned over the back of the couch, flashing a cheerful smile despite the tired-looking expression on his face.

“This is Yamaguchi Tadashi.” Tsukishima waved a hand in his direction. “His pizza's good shit.”

The man laughed. “Ennoshita Chikara.” He bowed his head.

“Narita Kazuhito.”

“Kinoshita Hisashi.”

“We're pleased to meet you,” Ennoshita continued. “Welcome to the team.”

“Thank you.”

“Well? Let's see those wrists.”

Tadashi exchanged a glance with Tsukishima before complying. They both lifted their wrists in the air. Tadashi's arm knocked against Tsukishima's and his heart-rate spiked.

“Yep. They're a match,” one of the guys – Kinoshita – remarked with a smirk.

“Congratulations,” Ennoshita chuckled. “Take care of him, yeah?” He waved and they melted once more into the thick of the party.

“Y-yeah. Of course,” he managed to splutter out, a little too late. He glanced at Tsukishima, unsure of what else to say at this point and feeling vaguely threatened by Ennoshita's last statement. He swallowed. How was he supposed to take care of Tsukishima? “Um--”

“Excuse me!” Tadashi bit back a groan. A group of four women had noticed the tiny lapse of time they'd been left alone and had come to remedy that. He grinned and stuffed the cocktail of frustration and growing anxiety to the back of his mind.

The girls introduced themselves as friends of someone he didn't know, their names flying in one ear and out the other. Memorizing the names of everyone at this party was going to be a feat Tadashi didn't have the energy or brain cells to take on.

“What's your name?” one of the girls questioned at the same time another asked, “how old are you?”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he answered. His name was starting to sound like a bunch of nonsensical sounds strung together. “I'm nineteen.” He turned to Tsukishima to see him preoccupied talking with another guest who must have snuck up while he'd been entertaining the group of ladies. “Tsukishima's, uh...” he paused, suddenly realizing he didn't know anything about Tsukishima's age, or anything else pertinent about him, other than the fact that he played volleyball and had a brother. “...nineteen, too, I guess?”

“Hey, are you really a pizza boy?” a third girl piped up. “Or is this, like, a costume for your soulmate?”

“Oh-- no this is my real job.” He pulled down the lid of his cap. “I work for Shimada Pizza. Come by sometime.”

“That's so cute!” The girls giggled amongst themselves.

“Can we see your wrists?” the second girl, the one who'd questioned him about his age, asked. “I wanna see how blank they are.”

“Uh-- sure.” He held his wrist up with the underside facing the group of girls, then turned and nudged Tsukishima's back who jumped a bit at the sudden contact.

“Sorry-- uh, they want to see our wrists,” he said sheepishly, smiling apologetically at the other guest who only stared back. He squirmed.

Tsukishima sighed but obliged, twisting around to face the girls and thrusting his bent wrist forward.

The girls squealed and gawked at their wrists for a good ten seconds before the second girl spoke again.

“When are your birthdays?”

“November 10th.”

“September 27th.”

“Let’s see… that’s, scorpio, and…” Girl #2 counted made a motion as if she were counting on her fingers, “libra.”

“Is that good?” Girl #4 asked.

“Actually…” Girl #2 twirled a lock of hair around her index finger. “Libra’s an air sign and scorpio’s a water sign, and usually the smoothest soulmate relationships are with someone of your own elemental sign. Libras are very rational, logical people and they’ll have trouble expressing their needs. But scorpios are really emotional signs, which makes them intensely loyal but also susceptible to jealousy and low self-esteem. So, let’s see… I guess a relationship between a scorpio and a libra would lead to a lot of conflict and poor communication until the two can reconcile their differences.”

“Great…” Tadashi said through the gritted teeth of his faltering smile.

“Thanks for the glowing recommendation, Nostradamus. I’ll make a note to be born on a different day next time,” Tsukishima droned.

Tadashi snorted despite the negative premonition.

“What about their Chinese zodiac signs? You’re both rats, right?” Girl #4 pointed out.

Tadashi nodded.

“What about two rats?” she asked her friend.

“Yeah, that’s…” Girl #2 started, “that’s alright.”

 _Alright?_ Tadashi thought. He’d never put much stock into astrology or any other of the pseudo-sciences, but even so, hearing the girl’s mostly negative reading didn’t help untie the knot of anxiety in his stomach.

“But, you know, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” the first girl said, placing her hands on her friends’ shoulders. “Soulmates are soulmates, right? You can’t go wrong with them.” She started steering her friends around and back to the center of the room. “We should leave them to each other, yeah? Good luck!” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks.” He waved good-bye and leaned closer to Tsukishima, who had gone back to conversing with the bearded fellow. Tsukishima’s back was to him now and he shuffled around in his seat, unsure of how to position himself.

Tsukishima felt large and solid sitting in front of him, undeniably real despite the fact that he’d been nothing more than a concept a mere hour ago. He felt the urge to rest his head against Tsukishima’s shoulder blade, but something told him he wouldn’t react very favorably to that. Tadashi chewed on his lip. Why wouldn’t he? As awkward and forced as the whole situation felt, the distance between Tadashi and his soulmate was beginning to grate at his nerves.

“Azumane Asahi.” Tadashi looked up to see the bearded guy Tsukishima had been conversing with addressing him. “I just wanted to stop by to meet you. Congratulations.”

“Ah, thanks,” Tadashi smiled. Asahi’s mannerisms didn’t match his menacing look at all.

“I’m a regular on the volleyball team so we’ll probably be seeing more of each other,” Asahi continued, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “We’ve been waiting for Tsukishima’s deadline. He’s the first one of the team whose timer was set to run out, so everyone’s been kinda excited about this.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tadashi murmured, glancing at Tsukishima. He was glaring at his wrist and rubbing at the expanse of unmarked white skin. Tsukishima seemed the least excited out of all of them.

“You play any sports? You’re always welcome to join us at practice. Ah-- maybe I shouldn’t say that. Daichi’s the one in charge.” He let out a soft chuckle. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

Tadashi thanked him and Asahi excused himself. He settled back down on the couch, pressing a thumb against his forehead where a headache was beginning to develop. Tsukishima was still silent, one of his hands gripped around his wrist and a scowl set on his face as he stared off into space.

“It’s strange, huh?” Tadashi remarked.

“Huh?”

He pointed to his own wrist. “It’s strange that the numbers are gone now, isn’t it? You get so used to them.”

Tsukishima unwrapped his right hand from his wrist. “Yeah,” he grunted. “Strange.”

 _You look like you think it’s a little more than strange_ , he thought, but before he could phrase anything to that effect, the next person sprang over, energetically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Hey!” the stranger in front of them yelled. “You're not Kuroo!”

“Bokuto. Phrasing,” a second person behind the stranger admonished.

Bokuto tipped his head to the side, looking a bit like a confused owl before saying, “Kuroo isn't you?”

The man behind him slapped the paper plate he was holding against his face but said nothing more.

Tsukishima sat up straighter at the entrance of this new guest.

“Who's Kuroo?” Tadashi asked.

“My best friend. And the guy we all thought would be Tsukishima’s soulmate.” He tilted his head in the other direction. “Actually, I think his timer should've run out by now. I wonder who it was?”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang out above the sound of the party, startling Tadashi more than it should have.

“That must be him!” Bokuto screeched, bounding over to the door that separated the living room from the entry hallway. Sugawara had already made his way towards the front door. Tadashi held his breath, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Seconds later, two men emerged from the hallway, the taller one of the two leaning heavily on the latter. His hair was disheveled and he looked like he’d just lost a fight. The sleeve of his upper left arm was soaked in blood and his face creased with pain, though his mouth was turned into a grimace like he was trying to mask it. He was rubbing at the back of his head as he crossed the threshold.

“Bro, you look like shit,” Bokuto belted out.

The man -- that had to be Kuroo, Tadashi surmised -- placed a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder before pointing to the sky. He made out the words “lucky" and “alive right now.” Kuroo was smirking but he really did look like shit.

He turned around to see Tsukishima staring at Kuroo with an unreadable expression Tadashi couldn’t parse.

“Have you met him before-- that was a stupid question.” He scratched at the freckles on his cheek self-consciously. Of course they hadn’t met. Bokuto -- and everyone else, whoever “we all” meant -- wouldn’t have assumed Tsukishima and Kuroo were soulmates if they’d met before.

Tsukishima said nothing and simply shook his head before dropping it to resume staring at the blank spot on his wrist.

“I can’t believe you didn’t go straight to a hospital.”

Tadashi looked up to see the stranger who’d scolded Bokuto earlier helping Kuroo sit down in an armchair across the table from them.

“I couldn’t not see you guys after meeting my soulmate, Akaashi. Bokuto would’ve been devastated,” Kuroo remarked, the smirk on his face still ever-present. He sat down in the chair with a little groan of relief.

“Bokuto can wait,” Akaashi said, taking out a tiny flashlight from his pocket and flashing into Kuroo’s right eye, then his left.

The man Kuroo had been leaning on when he entered approached from behind the chair and walked around to sit on the armrest. He was significantly smaller than Kuroo.

“Yeah, bro. Can’t have my number one homie dying on me right after his timer ends!”

“It doesn’t look like you have a concussion, though you were probably close,” Akaashi stated, clicking the flashlight off and turning his attention to the injury on Kuroo’s arm. “This might need stitches, though.”

“Ah-- ah--” Kuroo hissed as Akaashi reached for his arm and pressed at the wound..

“Okay. I’ll get a bandage and you can eat something in the meantime. I’ll go with you to a hospital after that. Sawamura-san…” Akaashi turned to Sugawara and Sawamura, who had followed Kuroo and his crew from the entrance. “Where do you keep your first aid supplies? I hope it’s alright if I use them on this idiot.”

“Of course, it’s no problem,” Sawamura reassured, gesturing with his head. “They’re in the bathroom. I’ll go fetch them.”

“I’ll come with you. All I’ll need is some gauze,” Akaashi said, following after the captain.

“You need anything else?” Sugawara asked, turning to Kuroo.

“No, I think I’m fine. Thank you for the help,” Kuroo bowed his head, careful not to move any part of his upper body.

“Alright. I’ll be around. Give me a holler if you need anything. Daichi has a car, he can drive you to the hospital later.”

“Thanks.”

Sugawara left them with a nod and Bokuto followed shortly after, shouting about fetching Kuroo and his soulmate some pizza, leaving Kuroo and his soulmate alone on the armchair.

“Do you still feel dizzy?” His soulmate, who was still perched on the armrest of Kuroo’s chair, asked. It was the first time he'd spoken up since everyone started fussing over Kuroo.

“Nah, I'm fine. A little sore, but that'll go away.” He smiled up at him and caressed his soulmate’s arm with the back of his knuckles in a surprisingly intimate gesture. His soulmate blinked but said nothing, merely accepted the gentle touch.

Tadashi watched as Kuroo’s gaze moved from the man in front of him to the rest of room before falling on Tsukishima.

“Ah! Tsukishima,” he grinned, shifting his weight forward so he was facing the two of them more appropriately. “It's nice to finally meet you, even if it's a little late. I guess Bokuto showed you pictures of me?”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima nodded. The expression on his face had changed from something unreadable to… something even more unreadable, but it looked to be akin to distrust or worry or… nervousness.

“Sorry to disappoint. I know you were looking forward to a life with me,” he smirked.

“Not really,” Tsukishima droned.

“It’s alright, no need to hide your disillusionment. We can’t all be soulmates with a hunk such as myself.” He swept a hand through his hair. “Looks like you’ve got your own catch, though.” Kuroo turned his attention to Tadashi.

“Oh-- uh--” Tadashi stammered, unsure of how to respond. Was he really a catch? Did Tsukishima think he was a catch?

“Why do you look like you got run over by a lawn mower,” Tsukishima asked, though his voice remained flat.

“You like my war wounds?” Kuroo asked, flexing his non-injured arm. “You should see the other guy.”

“You mean the Honda Fit?” The boy sitting on his armrest spoke up again.

“You noticed the car model?” Kuroo asked, incredulous.

“It’s my favorite in Gran Turismo.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Akaashi came back with a first aid kit and the conversation dissipated after that while he tended to Kuroo’s injuries. He cleaned out the wound on his shoulder and wrapped a gauze around it. Although Kuroo and his soulmate barely exchanged any words themselves, Tadashi watched as Kuroo’s hand slithered closer to his soulmate’s before finally resting on it, enclosing his palm around his soulmate’s smaller hand.

Tadashi turned to look at Tsukishima. Tsukishima’s nearest hand was busy cutting a piece of cake with his fork, inaccessible for obvious reasons. There were other options.

He lifted a shaky hand and slowly, carefully, inched it bit by bit towards Tsukishima before finally resting it against his upper thigh. Tsukishima flinched like he’d been shocked, sitting up ramrod straight and dropping the fork on his plate with a clatter. Tadashi retracted his hand immediately, heart sinking but trying not to show any sign of disappointment on his face.

Too fast?

Still, it didn’t take long for Kuroo to grow bolder with his own soulmate -- Kenma, he overheard at one point. By the time Akaashi had finished dressing his wound and Bokuto had brought over a plate of pizza, Kuroo’s hand had snaked up to the back of Kenma’s head, rubbing his fingers into his scalp. Kenma didn’t return any of his flirtations, but he accepted them without a word, eyes half-lidded and looking very much like a housecat getting petted.

Guests returned to pelt them with prodding questions, strolling up every few minutes with a preamble -- “sorry to bother, I hope you’re not busy, pardon for the intrusion” -- before continuing on with whatever it had been they’d wanted to say in the first place.

Tadashi shuffled a little closer to Tsukishima, extremely conscious of his soulmate’s movements and of the charged space between them. He laughed and smiled at another stranger’s question, flipping his blank wrist around at the hundredth request of the night to see it. Tsukishima sneered as he followed suit, looking very much like he’d just been forced to suck a lemon.

He tried not to let it get to him. The conversations were tedious at best, but Tsukishima hadn’t shown an ounce of excitement or joy since he’d shown up. He still didn’t really know the man, so it wouldn’t be fair to make any judgements yet, but would it kill him to return a smile? Anxiety nagged at the back of his mind.

“Hey,” he tugged at the edge of Tsukishima’s shirt sleeve. “I think I’ll fetch myself a slice of the pizza. Do you want me to get you some?”

Tsukishima shrugged. “Sure.”

His legs wobbled as he stood, tension making his muscles weak and shaky. He managed to hide it well enough as he staggered over to the farthest end of the room, weaving in between guests. Given how popular he and Tsukishima were, he would have expected more glances his way, but people seemed to forget about them once they’d had their probing questions answered. Just as well. He was getting tired of being treated like a celebrity. He wouldn’t have been surprised if someone had asked for autograph at this point.

The six pizza boxes he’d brought were spread out side by side on the long table, mostly empty, the cardboard stained with dried-out marinara sauce and abandoned shredded cheese. He glanced over at whatever was left, stalking over to the box that looked the fullest. Anchovies. He paused. Anchovies didn’t bother him, given his taste for salty foods, but he couldn’t be sure Tsukishima would be okay with it. Well, he could scrounge around the other boxes to find a different topping for him. He reached for a couple slices for himself.

Another hand appeared in his field of vision at the same time as he went for the first slice of pizza and he retracted his own hand, glancing up at whoever appeared to like anchovies, too.

It was Kuroo’s doctor friend.

“Ah -- hello.” He bowed for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It probably was. “Akaashi, right?”

“Yes. You're Tsukishima’s soulmate.” It was a statement, not a question, so he kept quiet. Akaashi had been there, after all, when both he and Kuroo had walked in, and he'd been nearby, sitting next to Tsukishima when Akaashi had needed to work on Kuroo. “Sorry we didn't get to formally meet. I’m Bokuto’s soulmate.”

“Ah,” Tadashi blinked. “So you’ve been through all this before.”

“Sort of,” he answered. “Didn’t have a soulday party, though.”

He looked down at the pizza as he slid a couple of slices onto his plate. Considering the way the party was going, he was starting to think it would have been better if Tsukishima hadn’t had a soulday party either. It was decently fun to get to know his friends, but it also felt as though he knew more about Tsukishima’s social life than himself. Not to mention the awkwardness between the two that was probably being exacerbated by the dozen pairs of eyes trained on them at any one point through the entirety of the night.

“Tell Kuroo I’ll be taking him to the hospital in five minutes,” Akaashi said before heading over to a nearby corner of the room where Bokuto was talking animatedly to a small crowd of guests.

Tadashi stumbled over a quick word of affirmation as he watched him walk away before focusing on the tableful of pizzas again. Four cheese pizza would have to do.

 

\--

 

Tadashi paused at the sight that greeted him as he made his way back to the couch. Kuroo was leaning forward precariously over the table that separated his armchair and Tsukishima, his back to Tadashi and face obscured from view. He could see the look on Tsukishima’s face quite clearly though, his usually stoic manner struggling to mask a more flustered expression.

“Hey, I'm back,” Tadashi announced and the situation dispelled itself immediately, Kuroo sliding back to sit upright in his seat and Tsukishima flickering from flustered to anxious and then to frustratingly neutral again. “Do you like cheese?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering.

Tsukishima nodded but didn't say anything except for “thanks” when Tadashi handed over the paper plate.

He glanced between Kuroo and Tsukishima but Kuroo had already turned his attention to Kenma who'd apparently headed off somewhere in the space of time it had taken him to get the pizzas.

“You find the bathroom okay?” Kuroo asked as Kenma padded up to the armrest again.

He nodded, face glued to his phone screen.

“Did you put your phone down at any given moment?”

Kenma raised his head to glare at him out of the corner of his eye before turning back to whatever he was doing.

Kuroo leaned over Kenma’s shoulder to peer at the screen.

“Can I play? Bet you I can beat that boss for you.”

“No. You can't,” Kenma stated simply.

“Let me play. Bet you I can.”

“It’s taken me twenty tries already. You don't even know what game this is.”

“Bet you I can. Give me five minutes.”

“The cutscene alone is five minutes!”

“Akaashi said he’d be taking you to the hospital in five minutes,” Tadashi interjected.

“Ah, what a spoilsport,” Kuroo grumbled, though he pawed lightly at the bandage on his shoulder as if reminding himself of the reason why he had to go.

Five gut-wrenchingly awkward minutes later, Akaashi made good on his promise and came over to pick Kuroo up with Sawamura right behind. Kuroo lifted himself up and out of the chair obediently, waving a quick goodbye to Tadashi and then winking -- _winking_ to Tsukishima. Winking. He was winking. He winked. And then he left.

Tadashi curled forward, disbelief and shock wracking through his body. He winked!

He turned to face Tsukishima as if to say _what a dick, huh,_ but froze in horror as he watched Tsukishima intently track Kuroo’s progress out the door, face still the same degree of unreadable, though a different shade now, somewhere between thoughtfulness and apprehension.

“Tsukishima.” His voice cracked, but Tsukishima didn't notice, his eyes still boring into Kuroo’s back. “Tsukishima!”

Tsukishima blinked into the present, eyes gaining focus and then dropping to meet his.

“What.” Tsukishima’s voice was low and monotonal, sounding like he was constantly irritated or bored. Maybe he was, Tadashi thought for one terrifying second. Bored and wishing Kuroo had been his soulmate after all.

A plethora of questions ran through his mind, but the only one that could make it off his tongue was: “Did you like the pizza?”

Tsukishima stared down at his half-eaten slice.

“C-cause, y’know, my boss makes them himself from scratch,” he stumbled, trying to hide his growing dismay. “I’ve seen him do the whole throwing it up into the air thing, and…” he tapered off. Tsukishima held the pizza up higher.

“It’s good, I guess.”

“O-oh…” he pulled down the lid of his cap, dropping his gaze to the ground in a weak attempt to hide the look on his face. Disappointment. Tsukishima shifted next to him, but he didn’t dare look up, suddenly afraid to make any kind of eye contact with him as fear and dismay coalesced in his chest, tightening into a thick knot at the base of his heart.

“I have to go.” He stood up abruptly before his brain could even process what he was saying, his eyes trained on the table in front of them. The fries he’d brought sat untouched next to an abandoned paper plate. He didn’t feel very hungry anymore. “I have-- have to go back to work.” He grinned sheepishly at Tsukishima, still devoutly avoiding making eye contact with the boy, before scooping up his bag and making a move towards the door.

Something grabbed at his arm and he paused, heart thrumming against his ribcage.

“Come to my place after your shift,” Tsukishima said, his presence on the edge of Tadashi’s peripheral vision. “My brother wants to meet you.”

“Ah-- s-sure,” he smiled weakly, finally turning to face Tsukishima who had his cellphone out. After exchanging contact information -- he tried not to dwell on the fact that he’d almost just tried to leave without having any way of contacting Tsukishima again -- he rushed out of the room, bowing hastily to Sugawara from across the room and ducking out the front door, letting the crisp air engulf him as he made his way to his scooter.

His fingers trembled as he strapped his helmet to his head, struggling with the clasp before finally clicking it into place and kickstarting the engine back to life. He spared one last glance at the house before revving away down the street and into the night.

His eyes burned. He rubbed at them with the corner of his sleeve at the soonest red light, but the pain didn’t go away, the stinging sensation deep in his tear ducts making his vision go blurry for a second before blinking away the impending tears.

 _Don’t cry_ , he thought to himself as the light turned green and he turned to the right. Cold wind whipped through his clothes and the hair around his nape. _Don’t be overdramatic. Don’t cry._

He tightened his grip on the handlebars as a hiccup ripped through his chest. _Don’t cry._

 

\--

 

“Hello?”

“It’s me.”

His voice sounded strange to his own ears and he mentally kicked himself for not being able to keep it under control.

Hitoka faltered on the other end of the line before speaking up again with her usual bubbly manner.

“Come on up! I’ll buzz you in.”

Hitoka was already standing at her doorway by the time he’d made it up to her floor. She was leaning forward, her head poking around the opening to stare down the long hallway as he stepped out of the elevator.

“Tadashi!” she squealed, speeding down the hall before leaping three steps away and tossing her 43 kilogram body at his chest. He grunted at the impact but held her up easily.

“Hey, Hitoka.”

She squeezed him in a tight hug, her legs dangling from where he held her up against his chest.

“So? How did it go?” she asked after a moment of hesitation.

“It went fine,” he answered, letting Hitoka slip to the ground. She stood there for a moment, her gaze flickering off to the side and the corner of her mouth tilting as she thought.

“I don’t think it went very fine, if you’re here,” she finally mumbled, hands clasped behind her back as she tossed him a wary smile.

“Ah-- no-- it was fine, really, it just--” _didn’t really seem like Tsukishima was all that pleased with me._ He didn’t dare finish his sentence, the words getting trapped between his gritted teeth. He swallowed them down.

Silence descended upon the both of them. He stared off at a flickering light at the end of the hall, illuminating the numbers posted above apartment number 215. The tenants there owned a cat, a fat sandy-colored one that liked to escape on occasion and wrap itself around Tadashi’’s legs when he came to visit, purring like his motorbike.

“You want to come in? You can tell me about it. Or not, I don’t-- I bought some rice crackers today! You can have some.”

He chuckled. “Thanks, Hitoka. That’d be great.” He let Hitoka lead him to her apartment by the wrist, her delicate fingers digging into the cuff of his sleeve. Her own wrist was twisted around so he could make out the last few digits in the long string of numbers which, he knew from his own personal friendship with Yachi, were hovering at around 22 days.

She let go of him once they entered her little studio and he watched as she flitted about the kitchenette, pulling out teacups and plates in her usual frenetic fashion, spinning around with one teacup still in her hand while she tried to lift the kettle with her other before finding that she didn’t have any hands left to turn on the sink.

“Need help?” he offered, a smirk already spreading across his face.

“No, no, I can do this,” she stammered, setting down the teacup on the counter then moving to hold the kettle with both hands. “Help yourself to the snacks.” She nodded in the direction of a basket that had been placed on the lone table in the room, filled with about three or four packs of rice crackers.

“Thanks,” he repeated, reaching out for one of the packages and unwrapping the cracker. It broke apart with a satisfying crunch and he pulled out a chair before digging in.

“How was your exam today?” he asked around a mouthful of the cracker.

“Eungh, don’t make me think about that,” she groaned. “I need at least a 90% to keep my ranking. So I can’t get more than five wrong. I--” she gasped, her hands covering her mouth then moving up to claw at her cheeks, “did I write my name down? I can’t remember, I can’t remember if I wrote my name!”

“I’m sure you wrote your name.”

“But what if I didn’t? I’ll get a zero!” she squealed, hugging a box of tea leaves to her chest.

Tadashi chuckled despite himself.

“You definitely wrote your name down. Even if you didn’t, I’m sure your professor recognizes your handwriting. Or they can figure out it’s you from process of elimination.”

 “I’m gonna fail,” Hitoka whined, dragging her feet over to the table and plopping herself in the seat across from him. “I hate tests,” she muttered against the wooden surface.

“Me too,” he sympathized, reaching forward to pat her head. Silence permeated the air again, interspersed with the bubbling of the slowly boiling water in the kettle. Memories of the night he’d just had, of Tsukishima’s face whenever he’d attempted to interact with him, then his expression when Kuroo had approached him away from the eyes of both of their soulmates, threatened to claw their way up his throat, kicking at his heart and bringing the stinging back into his eyes.

“Hey, Hitoka…” he started.

Hitoka lifted her head to look at him, eyes wide.

“Y’know how you get all freaked out thinking about meeting your soulmate? And you get worried about what they’ll think of you?” He picked at the surface of the cracker in his hand until a small piece broke off.

“Yeah,” she turned her head to the side so her cheek was pressed against the surface of the table now. “Like what if they don’t like me?”

He brought the flake up to his mouth, flipping it around with his tongue before crunching down on it.

“What if that happened?”

“Like, they don’t like me?” she asked, straightening her back and sitting upright.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at the wood grains.

She hummed in thought for a moment, wedging a fist against her cheek.

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

He blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“I mean-- I guess you can make a bad first impression, like in the movies. But in the long run, your soulmate’s the person you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with, right? They’re the best match for you and the person that can make you the happiest.” She tilted her chair back a little as she gazed up at the ceiling. “There _are_ people who choose not to be with their soulmates, but that’s usually cause they’re too old and they’ve found someone already. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone young just choosing not to be with their soulmate, even if they didn’t like them at first.” She brought her chair back down to all fours with a _thwump_ . “At least, that’s what _I_ tell myself.”

“What if… they were maybe expecting someone else?”

She stared at him pensively, a look of concern shadowing her features before speaking again. “Still… maybe they’d be disappointed at first, but if they were even a little smart, they’d acknowledge that they’re better off with you than with… that other person. Especially since it’s not like they’ve already married them or anything. ...Right?”

He nodded. What she was saying made sense, but Tsukishima’s indifference haunted him. His eyesight blurred as tears threatened to spill out and he crunched what was left of the rice cracker in his hand.

“Oh,” Hitoka breathed, a shaky little exclamation laced with worry. She walked around the table to his side, bending down to envelop him in a hug.

“No, no, don’t--” But it was too late, she’d already wrapped her tiny body around his shoulders and the tears that had been on the verge of falling all night finally exploded, running down his face and soaking into her shirt.

“He hates me,” he sobbed in a broken voice.

“I’m _so_ sure he doesn’t,” Hitoka soothed. “He can’t hate you, you’re you.”

Tadashi sniffled, unable to bring himself to say anything more.

Hitoka didn’t speak up again for another minute or so, letting Tadashi cry while hugging him tightly.

“There’s probably something else going on, you know?” she finally said. “Maybe-- like, maybe he didn’t know he was gay or something. And he kinda has to deal with that now. That kinda stuff happens.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He thought -- they’d told him -- before I showed up, it was someone else. That his soulmate was another guy. I think he was disappointed.”

She tutted. “Still, you don’t know that. And even if he was, it--” she stumbled on her words, “maybe he’s like me, like, sometimes I get a little huffy when my plans are suddenly changed, even if the new plans are better than the old ones and I know I’ll have a more fun time with the new plans. Maybe I’ll look disappointed or anxious for a second, but I know the new plans are better so I pull myself together and tell myself I’m being stupid. But it can be hard sometimes cause change is hard.” She paused for a moment. “But-- you still don’t know that for sure, do you? I mean, did he _say_ anything?”

“No, that’s just it. He didn’t say anything at all. I don’t think we exchanged more than ten words the whole night.” He wiped at his nose with his sleeve and Hitoka sprang up, grabbing a tissue box and running back up to Tadashi.

“Thanks,” Tadashi smiled weakly as he took one of the tissues. Hitoka waited patiently as he blew his nose and cleaned off his face.

“Better?” she asked, extending a trash can to him.

He nodded as he flicked the wad of tissue paper into the bin.

“Yeah. Sorry…”

She shook her head fervently. “No, it’s fine.” Her gaze lifted up to the ceiling as she thought. “How did you end up coming here? What happened at the end?”

He sighed. “I got sick of Tsukishima’s -- er, my soulmate’s -- attitude and his…” _ogling?_ No, it hadn’t quite been ogling, nothing as explicit as that, more like a wary admiration. Perhaps he’d been overreacting after all, he thought for a frightening second. “...attention towards Kuroo and not, well, me. So, I made up some excuse about having to go back to work and came here instead.”

“Tadashi…” Hitoka chided.

“I know, I know. But he gave me his number so I’ll probably call him later tonight… actually, I have to, he said his brother wanted to meet me after.”

“See, that sounds like a good sign!” Hitoka chirped, tapping him on the shoulder. “He wouldn’t have asked you to meet his brother if he didn’t like you!”

“Yeah, maybe,” he conceded, sliding down in his seat and resting his arms on the table. Hitoka’s eyes followed the movement before resting on his wrist. She made a little interrogative noise as she hunched forward and he twisted his forearm around so the blank wrist was visible. “Sure, go for it.”

She picked up his wrist in her tiny hand, pulling it closer to her face while her thumbnail scratched across the surface of his skin.

“Wow,” she giggled. “This is kinda weird.”

“Very,” he agreed. The blank slate of his wrist still threw him off every time it appeared in his peripheral vision, blaringly white and empty. After a lifetime of flickering numbers, the uncertainty of a bare wrist was intimidating enough on its own. He clenched and unclenched his hand, watching the veins underneath the skin shift with the movement. His eyes fell on a new freckle, one that must have been covered by the ink the whole time but was now exposed to the world with the expiration of his timer.

Hitoka lifted her own still-marked wrist and held it next to his. 00:00:22:00:49:08.

“Oh, crap,” he slapped a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. With all the drama I forgot to ask around to see if any of Tsukishima’s friends had a low timer.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I figured you were too stressed out,” she shrugged, dropping Tadashi’s arm and pulling her own wrist closer to her chest, a small smile tilting the corner of her lips.

“Hey, wanna see what Mr. Shimada gave me?” The sight of his wrist next to Hitoka’s had sparked the memory of his boss’s gift. He felt a bittersweet pang at the realization that he could wear the watch now.

“Wow,” Hitoka breathed as he pulled the wooden box out of his pocket and undid the latch. The silver watch gleamed against the light above the table. He wrapped the watch around his now-blank wrist, clicking the band in place and shaking his hand until the watch settled comfortably. “That’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” The second hand clicked softly as it moved around the face of the watch, counting the seconds past his deadline with each tick. “He kept insisting it was nothing big, but I definitely wouldn’t be able to afford this on my own.”

Hitoka giggled. “Your boss is so nice. I wish--”

Tadashi’s ringtone interrupted her statement. He flinched but dug his phone out of his pocket quickly, nearly shoving it back in his pants at the sight of Tsukishima’s number.

“Answer it!” Hitoka hissed when he made eye contact with her.

“Hello?” Tadashi answered, voice slightly breathless.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima’s voice drifted out from the receiver. Hitoka leaned over his shoulder, pressing the side of her head against the hand that was holding the phone to listen in on the conversation herself. “I’m home now, so don’t bother coming to the party after you’re finished with work.”

“Oh. Is the party already over?” He flipped his wrist around to take a look at the time on his brand-new watch. It wasn’t even ten yet.

“No,” was Tsukishima’s curt response. “Come to my house instead. Do you have a pen or something?”

Hitoka scrambled to grab a pen and a post-it note from her desk and run back to Tadashi, nearly tripping on her own feet in her haste.

“Shoot,” Tadashi said.

Tsukishima provided him with his address, which he noted down in his scrawled handwriting, heart pounding in his chest at the sound of his soulmate’s voice again.

“When will you be done with work?” Tsukishima asked after a short pause.

“Uh--” he exchanged a look with Hitoka. She tapped a finger against her wrist, mouthing the word _now_.

“S-soon. I should be there in-- in half an hour?”

“Okay. Text me when you get here. Our doorbell doesn’t work. Also, my brother would probably get to the door first and you shouldn’t have to deal with him alone.”

“Got it. See you soon. Bye,” he said before hanging up.

Hitoka started squealing the moment he put his phone down, practically jumping on top of him and squeezing the air out of his chest with her surprisingly strong arms.

“Tadashi! That was your soulmate? He didn't sound so bad!” She stepped back for a second, only letting go of him because the kettle has started to protest its rising temperature. “It sounds like he does want to see you again!” she continued as she poured the boiling water into the two cups she'd left out earlier.

“Yeah. You think so?”

She nodded and brought the two cups over to the table.

“Think you'll have time to drink this real fast?”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t take long for me to get there with my scooter,” he replied, reaching for one of the cups and taking a sip of the hot tea. An idea suddenly occurred to him and he set the tea back down, turning to Hitoka. “Can I use your shower before I go?”

 

\--

 

Tsukishima’s place was a modestly-sized townhouse located in the suburbs of Sendai, some distance from the center of the city but not too far from Karasuno University. He parked his motorbike in the street in front, taking a moment to breathe in and out through his nose before moving up the sidewalk to the main entrance.

Remembering not to ring the doorbell, he switched his phone on and typed out a text.

_I’m here._

He gulped. It felt too abrupt, almost commandeering. He deleted what he’d typed and started over.

_Here! ヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ_

No. No emoticons.

He removed the smiling emoji until he was left with _Here!_ then sent the thing before he could think of another reason to edit it.

He fidgeted where he stood, staring once again at an unfamiliar door as he waited for his soulmate. This was getting to be an uncomfortable pattern.

A minute later and the clicking sound of a door being unlocked preceded Tsukishima’s appearance on the other side of the threshold.

“Hello again,” Tadashi smiled shyly. The sight of Tsukishima’s face still sent his heart pumping into overdrive. He wondered if there would ever come a time where he could be within ten meters of Tsukishima’s presence without feeling like the butterflies in his stomach were about to crawl out of his throat

“Hey,” Tsukishima answered curtly. He shuffled to the side and gestured with his chin for Tadashi to enter. “My brother’s here.”

“Yamaguchi, right? It’s nice to meet--” Another man who’d been standing in the middle of the living area stopped mid-bow, jaw hanging and eyes wide open. His gaze flickered to Tsukishima standing behind him before completing his bow. “It’s nice to meet you. Tsukishima Akiteru.”

“Likewise,” Yamaguchi bowed in kind. Tsukishima’s brother looked a fair bit like Tsukishima himself, although his hair was a slightly darker shade and his face was slightly more elongated. He probably looked more like one parent while Kei looked like the other.

His brother stepped closer as he spoke, initial hesitation gone. “So you’re the person behind those numbers, huh?” He looked at Tsukishima again, a deep fondness glowing in his eyes. “I remember when Kei was born and those numbers were still at nineteen years wrapped around his pudgy little wrist.”

Tsukishima grunted in distaste. “Are you done bothering my soulmate now?”

“Wait, wait! I still don’t know anything about... him.” He turned to face Tadashi again. “So? What’s your full name? And what do you do with yourself?”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he squeaked. “And...  I deliver pizzas.” He blushed in embarrassment at having to admit his less than stellar career path. He hadn’t had to answer that question at the party since everyone had seen him walk in and it felt bitter that he didn’t have a more admirable job to gloat about to his soulmate’s family.

“Hey, I don’t have that great of a job, either,” Tsukishima the older admitted, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. Tadashi’s eyes landed on his exposed blank wrist before making eye contact with him again. “Office desk job. Y’know, it’s safe and it pays the bills. Can’t really ask for more.”

Tadashi nodded, relieved that he was understanding. “Yeah. I’ll probably work my way up until I can make a living for myself.”

“That’s important -- good work ethic.” He glanced over at Tsukishima again, a smirk growing on his face. “I think I’ll leave you two alone now -- Kei looks like he’s about to implode.”

“I’m not.”

“I want to talk more with you later, though,” he continued, giving Tadashi a large grin. “It really is a pleasure to meet you.”

Tadashi smiled, unsure of how to respond to his degree of warmth. Tsukishima and his brother were like two sides of a coin. It was a little disorienting.

“Bedroom’s this way,” Tsukishima grunted, tilting his head in the direction of the stairs.

Tsukishima’s room was located just next to the stairs on the second floor. He let Tadashi in first with a disinterested “you can sit anywhere” before closing the door behind them. The first thing Tadashi noticed was how neat and well-organized Tsukishima kept the place; there were still dedicated corners of entropy, namely on the bookshelf and Tsukishima’s desk but they were contained messes that put Tadashi’s own room to shame. He crawled onto Tsukishima’s bed, the closest thing to the door, and tucked his right foot underneath his left thigh as he watched his host sit down on his desk chair.

“You like Jaws?” he asked, pointing at a poster of the iconic shark displayed on the opposite wall.

“Spielberg is an excellent western director with a plethora of classical movies under his belt.”

“Yeah, I like Jaws, too.”

Tsukishima bowed his head and laughed. It had been more like a quick exhale of breath, really, a soft chuckle, but the smile was there, creasing the features on his face. Tadashi’s heart sang. Tsukishima looked so much more _human_ , warm and approachable and kind, when he let go like that, and he had to suppress a whimper of disappointment when Tsukishima’s face morphed back to its standard frown.

His soulmate scratched his fingernail against the pages of an open book on his desk before reaching down and picking up a discarded volleyball wedged between the trashcan and the desk. He bounced the ball in his hands a couple of times before making eye contact with Tadashi and sending the ball his way with a flick of his wrist.

Tadashi barely managed to bring his hands up to catch the ball in time. He tossed the ball back as quickly as he’d received it.. Tsukishima caught it with one hand effortlessly.

He served the next ball, using his fist to bump the ball in his direction, motions fluid and smooth. The ball hit him solidly in the chest. He cradled it in his arms for a moment before attempting the same move Tsukishima had done and sending it clear to the other side of the room.

“Crap! Sorry,” he apologized. Tsukishima said nothing, neither praise nor critique, simply collected the ball again, spun it a few times in his hands and thrust it back at him.

“So you're on the volleyball team then?” Tadashi tried to bring up the topic of conversation again. “Are you good?”

“I'm a regular,” Tsukishima replied simply, bumping the ball back with his forearms.

“So you are good.”

He shrugged. “Our team’s not all that big.”

“You said your brother got you into it? Is that the same brother as the one downstairs?” He tried to spin the ball on his finger but just tossed it back in Tsukishima’s direction after failing multiple times.

“Only one I have.”

“Why do you live with your brother?” _Bump._ “I mean, don’t get me wrong, that’s cool, but people usually room with their friends instead.”

A beat of silence, then: “It’s complicated.”

The next ball came in a little too fast, careening towards his face. He dodged out of the way in time to hear it thud into the wall behind him.

“Sorry.”

He waved a hand as if to say _it’s fine_ and picked up the ball from where it had dropped back onto the ground. He dug his nails into the rubber, feeling like he’d somehow ruined their brief moment of connection.

They resumed their little game, neither member saying anything for a few minutes.

“I--”

“What--”

“Sorry, you go.”

Tsukishima quirked an eyebrow before continuing. “Do you have siblings?”

He shook his head no while deflecting another one of Tsukishima’s passes. “Nah. Only child. I’m pretty close to my cousin, but she’s younger. I was first in my family,” he said, lifting his wrist in indication, “except for my parents, of course, but I wasn’t around for that. You’re lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“Well-- your brother, right? He’s older than you and I caught a glance of his wrists. They’re blank. How did his meeting go? When did his timer run out?”

The ball didn’t return and he looked up at Tsukishima who was gripping the ball tightly between his two hands.

“He wasn’t born with one.”

Shock lanced through his body like a lightning strike. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled the friendly man he’d only just met minutes ago.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Tsukishima’s face crumpled, mouth curling into a sneer as tossed the ball aside.

“Don’t be. He doesn’t need your pity,” he scoffed, and he swiveled his chair around to face his desk, digging his elbow into the corner of an opened book as he glared down at it.

Frustration sluiced through him, flowing in and out of his veins and settling in the pit of his stomach, dark and heavy.

“What is your problem?” Tadashi said, voice rising steadily. “Am I that much of a disappointment to you? I just can’t do anything right, can I?” Tsukishima looked up at him, startled, and he realized that he’d stood up and stalked halfway across the room. “I’m-- I’m sorry about your brother, and I’m sorry I’m didn’t get hit by a car trying to get to you, but I’m _trying_ here, okay? And this is as awkward for me as it is for you, but it wouldn’t be if you’d at least _put in some effort!_ ” He spat out the last few words, fists clenched tight and shaking.

“I’ll just leave this here,” a voice piped up from behind his back. He craned his neck around to see Akiteru standing at the doorway with a tray of tea and snacks. He grinned, letting out a weak chuckle as he set the tray down on Tsukishima’s desk before giving a meaningful glance to his brother and disappearing out the way he’d come.

Tadashi stared down at the tray, anger cooling into a distinct mix of shame, embarrassment, and anxiety. He’d have to apologize to Akiteru later. His blood froze at the thought of Akiteru listening to his rant and he silently prayed he hadn’t heard the whole thing.

Nobody moved for another five seconds or so and he was beginning to resign himself to either taking a cup of tea and buckling himself up for an even worse night than how it had started, or finding some new excuse to leave and go home when Tsukishima pushed his chair back and stood, towering over him even as he leaned forward to grab one of the cups.

“I-- I can--” Tadashi struggled to come up with something to say, anything at all, as he made eye contact with his soulmate.

Tsukishima closed the gap between them, slowly, deliberately, every inch adding to his height until he was towering over him. Tadashi’s eyes flickered from side to side, suddenly terrified to look directly at Tsukishima’s face. Something warm and steady slid between his hands and he looked down to see the cup of tea pressed in his palms, Tsukishima’s hands guiding it there and keeping it from falling.

“I didn’t want to meet you.” Tadashi’s heart fell at the confession, but he kept his mouth shut as Tsukishima continued. “It’s not anything personal. It didn’t matter who you were, I just didn’t want my timer to run down to zero. It’s not fun, or romantic, or whatever people make it out to be, not having a timer. Having to watch out for death around every corner.” He paused for a moment as if to consider his next few words. “I’m not… good at this kind of thing. I’m selfish and antisocial and weird. Kuroo-san told me my behavior was alienating you, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.” Tadashi’s mind settled on the memory of Kuroo leaning forward into Tsukishima’s personal space at the party when he’d come back with the pizza. Had that been what their conversation had been about? Embarrassment washed over him at the thought of what his original assumption had been. “If this is going to work at all, I’m going to require… patience. On your part.”

Tadashi took the cup from Tsukishima, letting the comforting heat seep into his palms and slowly begin to warm up his body. Tsukishima’s hands fell away to his sides but he stayed put where he stood, amber eyes still burning into Tadashi’s soul.

“That’s fine. This kind of thing isn’t easy for me, either. But this isn’t just about you. I had my own preconceptions of soulmates and deadlines, too. And yeah, not having a timer sucks, but…” he shifted from side to side a bit, unsure how to say his next words without sounding brash, “but it’s not the same as not having been born with one. I’m sure you know that…” _since your brother was born timerless_ , he added in his mind, but couldn’t bring himself to say out loud. “You’re not going to have to look for death around every corner.”

“I know. But my brother is older and I had to grow up watching him do just that. So you’ll have to forgive my own preconceived notions on the idea.”

Tadashi bit his lip as he thought, unsure on how to respond. He’d never personally met anyone who’d been born timerless, but he’d watched a documentary once. The stereotype was that they normally lived short, miserable lives, but some managed to craft communities for themselves and others like them, and given the proper amount of medical attention, supervision, and luck, could even survive to a respectable age.

“I am sorry about your brother -- I don’t mean that in a pitying way,” he added quickly, “but I-- I sympathize. And,” he continued before Tsukishima could interrupt, “I don’t think you’ve even stopped to consider this, but I _am_ your soulmate, and that means that both you and your brother are family to me now. If you need anything, anything at all, from me, to-- to help out…” he blinked. “I’d be willing to do that.”

Tsukishima looked taken aback, eyes opened a little wider and mouth slack before his features softened and he let out a soft, “thank you.” His eyes shifted from side to side, the corner of his mouth curling as he thought. “You can… stay.”

Tadashi almost laughed despite himself. “Okay,” he was all he said.

He shifted onto the bed again, tucking his legs underneath his body and blowing air into his tea. It tasted light and sweet, more flowery than what he was used to, but delicious nonetheless. He recalled Tsukishima’s face when he’d caught sight of Sugawara’s cheesecake and wondered idly if Tsukishima had a sweet tooth despite his dour demeanor.

The mattress shifted suddenly, lifting him up into the air a few inches before settling back down. He glanced up to see Tsukishima had settled in the space near the foot of the bed. His gaze roved over Tadashi until seemingly satisfied with something, then pressed his back against the wall, sipping at his own cup.

He followed suit, scooting backwards until he was resting against the same wall, shoulder touching Tsukishima’s arm. It felt different this time than during the party, warmer and and a tad more open than before, although there was barely any contact at all.

“Your fries are in the fridge, by the way.”

Tadashi snorted. “I completely forgot about those.”

“We can heat them up tomorrow.”

He grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i have never played gran turismo. i hope i picked a good car
> 
> One more chapter to go!!! Thank you all for waiting

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr!](http://tsukish11ma.tumblr.com/)


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